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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26390071">the green and the black</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/spetember/pseuds/spetember'>spetember</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:41:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>51,220</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26390071</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/spetember/pseuds/spetember</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“What was all that this morning with Parkinson?” he asked, lips curled upwards in amusement. His hand retreated into his pocket. “Nothing wicked, I hope?”</p><p>“It’s all in good fun,” I said. “Pansy knows we only tease her because we love her.”</p><p>A sly smile broke out onto his handsome mouth. “Should I be worried, then?”</p><p>(Female Slytherin reader. First person perspective.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Blaise Zabini/Original Character(s), Blaise Zabini/Reader, Tracey Davis/Daphne Greengrass</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. part I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>slight au in which the second wizarding war doesn't happen, so draco isn't a death eater, dumbledore doesn't die, no umbridge, etc. just slytherin kids bein slytherin kids. set in sixth year. i got all the names for side characters from the harry potter wiki.</p><p>pure-blood female main character of the rosier family. i imagine her name is bellamy, because it's cute and the rosiers are french, but it can be whatever you like!</p><p>i imagine this to have quite a dark academia vibe, but with ~magic~</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>the green and the black</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>part I</strong>
</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>“Have you<em> seen</em> this?” Tracey asked me one morning. She slid her copy of <em>Witch Weekly</em> across the breakfast table, pointing a jabbing finger at an article about some cheap new potion that supposedly cured bad breath. Next to it was a horrible little illustration of a witch about to receive a kiss from a foul-looking wizard and going comically green in the face. <em>Drink up before you pucker up!</em> it read in pink, swirling script.</p><p>“Horrendous,” I laughed, and poured myself a cup of coffee.</p><p>“Is that this week’s issue?” Pansy asked hopefully, craning her neck to get a look, and letting out a disappointed sigh when she found it was not.</p><p>“Last week’s—didn’t have time to read it—but will you look at the state of that?” Tracey bit into her toast and flipped the page. “They’re running out of ideas, I think.”</p><p>“I dunno, might be something for the boys to try,” said Millicent.</p><p>“How would you know?” Pansy teased. “Did Pucey make you pukey, Bulstrode?”</p><p>At once, Millicent’s cheeks flared bright red, and she quickly glanced over at the other end of the Slytherin table to where he was sitting with Higgs.</p><p>“Adrian has great personal hygiene, thank you,” she huffed, and began to distractedly pour an unsteady stream of pumpkin juice, splashing droplets all over the table.</p><p>“Oh, I’m sure he does,” said Pansy, and Tracey snickered.</p><p>Adrian Pucey was out of Millicent’s league, being a Chaser on the Quidditch team and a year older than us, and they liked to poke fun at her for it—almost everyone did, ever since she had declared her love for him our first night back at school a week ago. I found it rather sweet, but futile. Pucey was vile. I’d heard how he spoke about the witches in his year and did not particularly care for it.</p><p>I watched him now where he sat with Higgs, grease dripping from his fingers as he popped a sausage into his mouth. How Millicent had ever fallen for something like <em>that,</em> I would never understand.</p><p>“Merlin, look at them,” I sighed, my appetite sufficiently ruined.</p><p>“Honestly, for Slytherins, you would expect them to care a bit more about their table manners,” said Tracey with a look of disapproval that reminded me of my mother.</p><p>“You’re right,” said Pansy, wrinkling her nose. “You can do better than <em>that,</em> Millicent.”</p><p>Tracey waved her hand dismissively before Millicent could say anything. “She’ll be over him in a week, give or take, and onto the next victim.”</p><p>Millie said nothing, only huffed stubbornly. That made me smile.</p><p>“You’re one to talk, Davis,” Pansy piped up, her dark eyes playful. “Didn’t you fancy Theo in First Year?”</p><p>“I remember that,” I snorted. She’d been in love with Theodore Nott for nearly a whole year. “Oh, Trace, what were you <em>thinking?”</em></p><p>“I wasn’t,” she groaned in embarrassment. “It was a mistake of massive proportions, yes, but you can let it go now, girls!”</p><p>“I don’t think we will,” said Pansy. “It’s far too funny.”</p><p>“Well, how are things with Malfoy going, Parkinson?” Tracey retorted, and that made Pansy snap her mouth shut. I bit my lip to stop from laughing. Pansy never could handle the taste of her own medicine.</p><p>“Did I hear my name?” said Draco, appearing from nowhere and taking a seat beside Pansy, who looked like she may faint. Zabini, to my surprise, slid in beside me, which was very uncharacteristic for him, and Vincent and Greg shuffled in after them.</p><p>“We were wondering if you’d done the Potions homework, and if we might be able to have a look,” I quickly lied, “you being Snape’s prized pupil five years in a row, and all.”</p><p>“Flattery will get you nowhere,” he said flatly, but he seemed to be in a good enough humour. “And that Slughorn seems like a helpless fool, if you ask me. You might as well drop the class altogether.”</p><p>I raised an eyebrow. I didn’t disagree, per se—I was by no means Professor Slughorn’s biggest admirer—but he seemed to me as competent as Snape, if not a bit more manic. “Not too keen on the old Slug, are we?”</p><p>“Don’t be upset he doesn’t like you, Malfoy,” said Millicent with a sniff. “That’s how the rest of us feel.”</p><p>“Cheating, Rosier?” said Zabini, looking unimpressed, but rather amused. I think he could tell something was going on. “That isn’t like you.”</p><p>I was momentarily taken aback by the fact that he had spoken to me so plainly.</p><p>“It’s not for me,” I reassured him, “but for <em>Pansy.</em> She’s been struggling, you see.”</p><p>Pansy now looked as though she may murder us, but Tracey quickly caught on. “Oh, yeah, she has. You’d be able to help her though, wouldn’t you, Malfoy?”</p><p>Malfoy sighed and shook his head. “You girls are always up to something, aren’t you?”</p><p>“Not this time,” I said innocently, “we swear.”</p><p>Zabini wore a playful smile, his chin propped up on his fist. “On your life, Rosier?”</p><p>“On Pansy’s Potions homework.”</p><p>With Pansy sufficiently riled up, Tracey and I caught each other’s eyes and shared an impish look. That was probably enough teasing for one day.</p><p>While the boys were discussing some poll in <em>Seeker Weekly,</em> Tracey started reading out an article about a controversial new rouge by Madame Circe’s Cosmetics that supposedly used real human blood. I was half-listening, occasionally distracted by Zabini beside me reaching across the table to pick up the jam or the rumble of boyish laughter. It felt quite serene, and a little nostalgic, when he laughed. I didn’t hear it often these days.</p><p>He caught me staring, and his eyes were so deep and dark it made my stomach churn. I looked down. His long fingers were tapping against his teacup, and the sight was oddly mesmerising.</p><p>It was strange to think now, sitting at the breakfast table, on a bright September morning like any other, that he and I shared somewhat of a history—although what exactly the nature of our relationship was, I had never really known. When had it even started? Was it Second Year? I couldn’t remember now. I had always known <em>of </em>him, of course, ever since we were children, stiffly dressed in our finest robes at the reception room of Malfoy Manor, or at the yearly Rosier Summer Solstice gatherings.</p><p>For a brief moment, I wondered what it would be like to have never known him at all. Strangely, it felt nearly impossible to try and recall a time <em>before</em> I’d known of Blaise Zabini.</p><p>“—you even listening? Hey!”</p><p>At once I snapped out of my thoughts and was brought back to earth when Tracey hit my arm with her rolled-up magazine. “Merlin, Trace!” I exclaimed, rubbing the spot.</p><p>“Well, sorry, but you’re going to make us late for Transfiguration,” she said matter-of-factly, and I realized suddenly that everyone had already finished eating and was ready to go.</p><p>“Still dreaming, Rosier?” Zabini quipped—and, to my horror, winked. Quickly, before he could notice my blush, I gathered up my worn dragon hide bookbag and followed the girls out the Great Hall, linking arms with Trace on the way out.</p><p>Lessons that day were long and slow. For some reason, I found it hard to focus on much of anything. All through Transfiguration, I tried to keep my eyes trained on my parchment, but every so often they would wander to the back of Blaise’s head, or to the way his dark curls moved when he ran his hand over them. I couldn’t get his wink out of my head. And later that afternoon in Charms, I honestly tried to pay attention as Professor Flitwick spoke at length on advanced weather charms, but didn’t hear much of what he was saying. His voice became a quiet background drone, and over the course of the next hour, I doodled absentmindedly on the corner of my notebook.</p><p>When the day was finally over, and my classmates made their way back to the Common Room, I trailed behind, hugging my new N.E.W.T. textbooks to my chest, deep in thought. I had just stepped out of the classroom when someone caught my arm, and turned to find Blaise, smiling good-naturedly.</p><p>“Where’s your head gone?” he asked curiously as we headed down the corridor.</p><p>“Don’t worry about it,” I told him. For a moment my eyes lingered on his fingers around my elbow, his touch feather-light.</p><p>“What was all that this morning with Parkinson, then?” he asked instead, lips curled upwards in amusement. His hand retreated into his pocket. “Nothing wicked, I hope?”</p><p>“It’s all in good fun,” I said. “Tracey and I mean well.”</p><p>“The more you push her and Draco together, the more he’s going to resist,” he told me, and he was right, of course. “You know him.”</p><p>“I do,” I reassured him. “Don’t worry, Zabini. If she decides to make another move, that’s her choice.”</p><p>“And her funeral.” He laughed. “Bloody hell, she looked like she was ready to pass out, poor girl.”</p><p>I couldn't help but smile. “Pansy knows we only tease her because we love her.”</p><p>A sly smile broke out onto his handsome mouth. “Should I be worried, then?”</p><p>I looked up to see whether he was joking, but he had plastered on the same good-natured expression, and I could not decipher what it meant. Looking up, though, I was struck by the sudden realization that he had grown considerably taller than me over the past year. There was the glint of a golden ring on his ear that I had never seen, or perhaps just never noticed before.</p><p>“Don’t flatter yourself,” I said coolly.</p><p>We made further empty small talk. When we had arrived at our portrait, he said the new password—“Acromantula,” to my distaste—and stepped aside to let me enter first, his hand outstretched towards me. I took it, mostly to humour him, and he helped me step up into the portrait hole.</p><p>“Ever the gentleman.”</p><p>“You know me, Rosier,” he said, with his charming, wicked smile. “Only the best for you.”</p><p>Something about the tone of his voice made me feel both uneasy and excited all at once, and as we stepped into the Slytherin Common Room to join our Housemates, I tried my best to ignore how close he was to me, and the pervasive scent of his warm sandalwood cologne. Quickly, I crossed the room and settled in between Millicent and Tracey on the chaise longue, watching Vincent and Greg argue about Bludgers.</p><p>“What was that with Zabini?” Millicent asked out of the blue, and I was caught so off guard I could not think of an answer.</p><p>“Ooh, has the flame rekindled, Rosier?” asked Tracey, and I raised an eyebrow in disbelief.</p><p>“What flame, Davis?” I said, feigning naiveté. But she caught me nervously biting my nail, and I quickly stopped.</p><p>“I wouldn’t get your hopes up,” warned Millicent, and at first I felt the sudden urge to defend myself, but if there was anything I would never do, it was publicly out myself for having any sort of feelings for <em>Blaise Zabini.</em> She then nodded her head towards the couch by the fire, where he and Daphne Greengrass were sitting rather closely together, leaning towards each other. He still wore that same, charming smile, and for a moment my heart contracted painfully in my chest. I wanted to say something funny, or perhaps something devastating, but I couldn’t bring myself to. I loosened my tie and tucked my legs under my skirt, feeling unexpectedly and intensely uncomfortable.</p><p>“Classic Zabini,” I muttered instead, turning back to watch the boys argue. Vincent had somehow produced a Bludger out of nowhere and was pointing out how many circles were ingrained in the iron. Greg seemed convinced there were only three (when in actuality, there were six).</p><p>“He moves in quick, doesn’t he? I could swear Daphne only just broke up with that Ravenclaw over the summer,” Tracey was saying, but her voice sounded far away.</p><p>“The Prefect?” Millicent asked, and Tracey hummed yes.</p><p>I looked around the room. “Where’s Pansy?”</p><p>She gave me a knowing look. “With Malfoy, of course, going over <em>Potions.</em>” The way she said it made it clear that Potions homework was probably the last thing they were up to.</p><p>“We work fast,” I said, rather impressed.</p><p>“It’ll be your turn next, Millie my girl. We can get you Pucey in two taps of a wand.”</p><p>“No way!” she protested, jumping up from the couch, her cheeks bright red. “If you two say <em>anything</em> to Adrian, you’re dead!”</p><p>We burst into laughter as she stormed off into the girls’ dormitory. We loved Millie—we honestly did—but sometimes I did think our teasing went a bit too far. Still, it was far too amusing to put an end to it; her reactions were priceless.</p><p>Leaning back against the chaise, Tracey let out a snicker. “It’s just too easy!”</p><p>“We’ll have to appease her somehow, you know. Can’t have an angry Bulstrode on the loose.”</p><p>“What’s she going to do? Hex me?” She smiled smugly. “I’d like to see her try. I haven’t hexed anyone in a while.”</p><p>“Don’t try your luck, Davis.”</p><p>“When was the last time—before summer? I used the Knee-Reversal Hex on Pike, d’you remember?”</p><p>“Oh, yeah!” I giggled, remembering how he’d fallen flat on his face in front of an entire corridor of students. “Tracey Davis, you are <em>terrible.”</em></p><p>“He was trying to ask that snooty Prefect out, and I don’t know, I just thought it’d be funny—”</p><p>I threw my head back and laughed as she recounted the story—I didn’t feel bad for Pike, he could be worse than Nott sometimes—and stopped when I caught Zabini’s eye from across the room. He had his arm around the couch, where Daphne was laughing at something he must have said. I quickly looked away.</p><p>When Trace suggested we take a turn around the Black Lake, I happily accepted, and left the dungeons without looking back.</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>After dinner, I excused myself early and sat on my bed with a book, though I couldn’t focus on any of the words on the page. Through the thick stone walls, I could vaguely hear the game of Exploding Snap some of the younger students were playing. With a flick of my wand the heavy canopy fluttered shut, but I could still hear the explosive bangs and screams of victory. I felt restless staring at the dark green brocade. Ultimately, my mind wandered, as it had all day, back to Blaise.</p><p>Just what did he think he was doing? Was he mocking me, or was he merely flirting? No matter how often his words replayed in my mind, I could never figure out their intention. It was no use trying to, of course; I had known him for years, and he still remained forever the enigma, ever since we were children. I thought back, with a wave of intense melancholy, to First Year.</p><p>At the Sorting Ceremony, after everyone had been awarded their new House colours, we coincidentally sat beside each other, young and proud in green and silver. He gave me a grin underneath his pointed hat and introduced himself—although we already knew of each other from years of gatherings at the Malfoys’. I returned the formality, trying my best to be polite, and quick-witted, and proper. From then on, we operated on a first-name basis, if only for decorum’s sake, as the only things really relating us were our House and our connection to Draco. Once I befriended Pansy and Tracey, I barely gave him another thought.</p><p>It was only in Second Year that things began to change. I liked Blaise well enough, as I had an impersonal, respectful regard for all of my Housemates, but by this point we had shared few conversations beyond homework. He was cute, of course—all the young witches in Slytherin and beyond thought so—but the hectic nature of school and my mother’s constant hounding about my grades kept me focused on academics.</p><p>I started frequenting the library, sometimes with Tracey or Pansy, to finish our parchments or study together. Tracey loved <em>Witch Weekly </em>and <em>Spellbound, </em>and all the other magazines my mother never let me buy, so after a long evening of studying we would stay up late together in our dorm, reading silly articles and laughing under the covers.</p><p>On the contrary, all Draco and Blaise ever seemed to talk about was Quidditch, which I was considerably less keen on. Sometimes, when the Slytherin team lost a match (especially against Gryffindor) Draco would throw a fit and mope for the remainder of the day, and I would catch Blaise’s eye from across the room and shrug, as if to say, <em>what can you do?</em></p><p>Other times, I would run into him in the courtyard or the corridors, and we would walk back to the dungeons together, making small talk. It was never remarkable, and I cannot remember what in Merlin’s name we might’ve spoken about, but I remember feeling very much at ease in his company. On rarer occasions, he would visit the library with me, and he would sigh and procrastinate and doodle on his notebook while I read.</p><p>I would like to believe, by then, that we considered each other not just as Housemates or polite acquaintances, but as friends. Once we parted for the summer, he gave me a hug, and I braved a kiss on the cheek—utterly scandalous for that age.</p><p>“I’ll send you an owl,” he’d promised. He did, once or twice, mostly to complain about how boring his holidays had been. He sent me a book I’d mentioned wanting to buy from Flourish and Blotts, and I gifted him the rare Chocolate Frog Card of Cornelius Agrippa I had miraculously managed to collect.</p><p>In Third Year, I believe we were nothing more than friends. I enjoyed his company, more than even Draco’s. Sneaking off during trips to Hogsmeade; walking along the Black Lake; cheering Draco on during matches from the stands. We told each other things in confidence—silly things that only thirteen-year-olds worry about, things that never mattered much but which felt like the end of the world at the time. To say he was not keen on his new stepfather was the understatement of the year, and while I had never met the man, I let him rant about it, sometimes for hours on end.</p><p>Once, and only once, late one night, I told him of my family, and of my fears and worries of upholding the Rosier name, and the immense stress I was under to be, in a word, perfect. He listened intently, and although he may not have known it at the time, it truly meant the world to me.</p><p>We wrote each other all through summer, and when I met him and Draco at my family’s annual Summer Solstice party, my heart soared, though I was not quite sure what it meant.</p><p>By Fourth Year, he started to do little things that made my heart race. A smile at breakfast; a touch on the hand during class; a kiss on the cheek at the Three Broomsticks. Once, while sitting under a tree in the courtyard, he carefully ran his fingers through my hair, looking rather sheepish.</p><p>“What are you doing?” I’d asked, suddenly bashful.</p><p>He only shrugged. “I like your hair,” he admitted. “You should wear it down more.”</p><p>(I did, of course, by no coincidence.)</p><p>We caught each other’s eye ten times a day, and each time I felt a thrill down my spine. I was now certain of my feelings for him—but so were several other witches, unfortunately. I was vaguely aware that he had become a regular topic of conversation among the girls at school. He was also starting to grow into quite the flirt, and Draco would often poke fun at him for it, but I had always hoped he was just playing around.</p><p>The first time we all tried Firewhisky (as Montague had smuggled in a bottle of Ogden’s Old for the Quidditch team after a victory) we played Truth or Dare in the middle of the Common Room, and even the Prefects turned a blind eye to our mischief. We’d played several rounds of silly, stupid little dares and questions, excited and tipsy for the very first time. Nott had to eat an entire handful of Pepper Imps in one go, and steaming smoke erupted from his ears and nose for an hour; Crabbe had to tell us his most embarrassing story, which involved far too many sweets from the trolley and one long, bumpy journey on the Hogwarts Express.</p><p>Draco had been laughing and carefree for the first time in a long while, and the spirits in the room were high. So, when it was Blaise’s turn to answer a question, and Daphne, wearing a smug little smile, asked him boldly who he thought the prettiest girl in the room was, my heart stopped when he looked right at me.</p><p><em>“Rosier?”</em> she had exclaimed, incredulous, but I was too pleased and giddy to take offence.</p><p>“Truth or dare?” I was asked later by Pansy.</p><p>I chose dare, with a sudden burst of confidence.</p><p>Pansy and Tracey shared a look I knew all too well. “Kiss someone in this room.”</p><p>There was a hush as everyone looked on with wide-eyed anticipation at this scandal. How exactly I mustered up the courage, I will never know, but with a final drink, I turned towards Blaise, lifted my fingers to his chin, and kissed him squarely on the mouth. There was a resounding roar of laughter and cheering, and when I pulled away, it was the first time I had ever seen him close to dumbstruck. My chest and cheeks felt warm, and he held my hand for the rest of the night.</p><p>Perhaps it was the Firewhisky that did it all, or perhaps it was just a stroke of good luck, but it was still a magical first kiss—as far as first kisses went. Tracey’s first kiss—with Hannah Abbott, no less—sounded sweet, if a little awkward. Pansy’s—not with Draco, surprisingly, but with a boy in the year above—sounded nothing more than wet and uncomfortable. Daphne Greengrass’ was with Theodore Nott, apparently, and she did not leave a good review.</p><p>I was suitably surprised, and rather hurt, when Blaise didn’t ask me to be his date for the Yule Ball. Nonetheless, I was happy for Pansy when Draco asked her, despite how much she gloated about it for weeks on end. Tracey and I decided to go together, so in the end I turned down Anthony Goldstein, although he seemed nice, and a sweet boy called Jules from Beauxbatons—though we were on amiable enough terms to share a dance later on in the night. Tracey and I spent most of the evening with the other girls, and donned matching robes in shades of silver.</p><p>Blaise had looked dashing in his dark dress robes, and I’m not sure now whether he had foregone a date or if he’d simply abandoned them into the night. Knowing him, it was probably the latter. We danced together, only once, and even if I was merely one of his many partners that night, the feeling of his hand in mine was incomparable. And—although I will never admit it to my friends now—we shared another kiss, sweet and shy, in the garden, hiding behind a large Christmas tree. He had led me outside, giddy with laughter, and cupped my cheek so sweetly that my heart could not help but flutter. I remember the fresh, wintry smell of the pine tree, and the way snowflakes gently landed on his shoulders.</p><p>“You look beautiful,” he’d told me, and leaned down to softly touch his lips to mine. My heart stopped then, and did not seem to beat again until we were back inside with our friends, dancing to The Weird Sisters, delirious with joy and adoration.</p><p>Thinking back on it later, I often wondered whether I was his only kiss that night.</p><p>Over the Christmas holidays I sent him a few owls, but inexplicably he did not respond to any of them. I assumed it was his frustration with his stepfather that made him act that way (in fact, the man later passed before the New Year, which made him husband number seven to die under mysterious circumstances, I believe). When I first saw him again after the break, he acknowledged me with a quick “Rosier,” and nothing more.</p><p>I heard from Pansy that he was apparently seeing Tabitha Bainbridge from the year below. Later that month, it was Selina Moore from the year above. After that, I couldn’t keep up with the stream of rumours, some of which seemed to change daily. Sometimes, I would run into him around the castle, and we would exchange a nod or a polite hello, though the knowing looks at breakfast and the fleeting handholding during class were gone. He withdrew more and more until, eventually, I hardly saw him at all. At first, I thought Draco’s ill humour had rubbed off on him, but soon it became apparent he simply did not wish to see or speak to me.</p><p>Tracey and Pansy hounded me about it during the weeks that followed, but from then on, I refused to acknowledge that anything had ever occurred between Blaise Zabini and I.</p><p>We did not speak for the rest of the year.</p><p>In Fifth Year, we were apparently on a last-name basis. I started seeing Sebastian Daley in the year above for a while, but we eventually decided we weren’t a good match—and anyway, I had O.W.L.s to focus on.</p><p>When we returned to Hogwarts for Sixth Year, it was like we never even knew each other.</p><p>Needless to say, I was angry for a long time, but it was an anger I refused to express. More than anything, though, I was embarrassed. He’d used me, as he was now using every other witch and wizard he could wrap around his finger, and it made me want to Obliviate myself into oblivion. Before Christmas break, at the ball, I’d been elated—I thought the strange, exciting back-and-forth between us was finally leading somewhere—but afterwards, it was almost like nothing had even happened. Everyone seemed to have noticed the shift, though no one was foolish enough to comment on it.</p><p>For a while I was determined to ask him what in Merlin’s name had happened, but Zabini had become a master evader of confrontation overnight. Every time we were alone together, he had some new excuse to leave, or would simply disappear without a word.</p><p>And now, after a year of nothing<em>,</em> he was flirting with me; either that, or he was mocking me. I couldn’t decide which was worse.</p><p>The horrible truth of the matter, and the thing that made my heart ache, was that it was still far too easy to feel special when I was with Blaise. Every witch at school, and a few wizards besides, knew intimately just how charming he could be; I was well aware of the reputation he had acquired over the years, of course, and it made me wary. In all honestly, I had never quite been able to shake my feelings for him, as good as I had become at pretending otherwise—but I would never, ever admit it out loud, not after the way everything had turned sour so suddenly. Regardless of whether or not he was interested in me again (or if he ever had been to begin with) I wouldn’t be able to take the torment from our Housemates. Teasing Pansy for chasing after Draco was one thing; chasing after Blaise was quite another. Everyone and their mother fell instantly for Zabini’s cunning charm, and if nothing else, it would be embarrassing, predictable. It would give the girls ample ammunition to tease me for years to come.</p><p>And what about Daphne? Was he suddenly interested in her? What if they—</p><p><em>No,</em> I decided, finally putting my book away and getting under the covers. I would go on as I was. Zabini’s current love life had very little to do with me, and he could do whatever he wanted.</p><p>Despite my firm resolve to put it out of my mind, my thoughts wouldn’t stop wandering the entire night. While the other girls were fast asleep, I was awake, hugging my pillow, with a deep unsettling feeling crawling in my chest.</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>The next morning at breakfast, I was the last to arrive at the Slytherin table, and sleepily squeezed myself in between Pansy and Millicent. I had barely slept a wink. A quick spell fixed my hair into place, but even a concealing charm couldn’t hide the bags under my eyes.</p><p>“You look horrible, mate,” Tracey snickered from across the table. “Need some Beautification Potion?”</p><p>“Cheers, Davis. Could you pass the jam?”</p><p>“No luck sleeping last night?”</p><p>“As you can see. Pass me the jam.”</p><p>She did eventually, but just then I caught a glimmer in her eye that I did not like the look of. “This wouldn’t be because of some secret late-night rendezvous, would it?”</p><p>To my horror, her words caught the attention of everyone else around us, and suddenly half our year had entered the conversation.</p><p>“A rendezvous, Rosier?” Daphne Greengrass said with apparent interest. “With whom, might I ask?”</p><p>“No one, Greengrass,” I replied. “Good girls are in bed by curfew.”</p><p>Tracey wagged a finger. “Ah, but you didn’t say<em> whose</em> bed.”</p><p>“A secret lover, how scandalous,” gushed Pansy, and I could tell she was starting to like the idea. “Who knew our little Rosey had it in her.”</p><p>I caught Blaise’s eye across the table. He seemed perfectly undisturbed. “Careful you don’t get caught by the Prefects,” was all he said, and Pansy and Draco scowled at him, their green and silver badges gleaming.</p><p>“You would know about that, Zabini,” I blurted before I could think to say anything else, and there was a ripple of laughter from the boys. In fact, he’d landed himself a detention a fair few times for just that—sneaking out after curfew, presumably to meet some new interest of his.</p><p>“Got caught past curfew again, Blaise?” Pansy scoffed. “How immature. You’re lucky I’m not the one who caught you or you’d be straight off to detention to scrub cauldrons for a month.”</p><p>“Maybe you should learn from his mistakes,” Millicent said to me.</p><p>I poured myself a cup of coffee and ignored them.</p><p>“So who <em>is</em> this mysterious new lover of yours?” Blaise asked.</p><p>I looked him in the eye and tried not to laugh. “Filch,” I replied matter-of-factly, spreading the rose jam on a piece of toast. “Yes, we had quite the tryst while cleaning the girls’ toilets. Any more questions?”</p><p>Luckily, everyone laughed, and that was the end of that.</p><p>Later that week, I happened to stumble upon Zabini out of bed long after lights out, barefoot and in his sleeping robes. Dark silk, with his initials on the breast pocket. I tried not to stare. There was a small communal radio on the table, and I could faintly hear Glenda Chittock’s silvery voice welcoming all the listeners to <em>Witching Hour.</em></p><p>“Rosier?” he said in surprise. He was sitting in front of the fire, alone. “Off to a secret rendezvous?”</p><p>“Just to the kitchens for tonight,” I replied, self-consciously folding my arms in front of my chest and feeling rather naked in my frilly old nightgown. “What are you up to so late?”</p><p>“Nothing in particular,” he said, his expression indecipherable. I couldn’t tell if he was lying. “May I join you?”</p><p>I gave him a long, searching look, and shrugged.</p><p>We walked in relative silence towards the kitchens, exchanging no more than a few words. There was an impenetrable and uncomfortable weight between us. After tickling the pear in the portrait and asking the house-elves for some water, we stood at the counter, drinking from our goblets in silence. I was highly aware of hundreds of eyes looking at us.</p><p>Once we were back in the dungeons, I was tempted to retreat to my dormitory at once, but it was rather rare that we were ever truly alone like this. Part of me wanted to sit down and talk. Part of me wanted to flee.</p><p>Ultimately, he made the decision for me. “Sweet dreams, Rosier,” he said smoothly.</p><p>I regarded him with some suspicion. “Goodnight, Zabini.”</p><p>Before I could take two steps, he slowly looked me up and down and added, with a devilish grin, “Nice nightgown.”</p><p>At once my cheeks flared up and I rushed back to the girls’ dormitory, whipping my hair in his face with a huff. I could hear him laughing behind me.</p><p>“Horrible creature,” I muttered.</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you for reading!!</p><p>i made a pinterest board around this fic if you'd like: https://pin.it/46LhXbs</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. part II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>the green and the black</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>part II</strong>
</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>Adjusting to my new N.E.W.T. modules was going horrendously over the next few weeks. The jump from O.W.L.s over to Sixth Year had been more challenging than I’d originally anticipated, and while Tracey kept reminding me that we wouldn’t sit any official exams until next year, I felt the pressure building all September. Unfortunately, I found no luck in trying to study. It seemed that every time I visited the library, or found a quiet bench outside, Zabini seemed to take great delight in bothering me. It wasn’t quite like before; we didn’t feel like friends. He took nothing I said seriously, and it seemed as though his only goal was to get a rise out of me; small things, teasing comments on my hair or robes, suggestive remarks whenever I interacted with one of our Housemates.</p><p>“A letter from your beau, Rosier?” he said rather bitingly one day when an owl dropped one onto my plate of eggs.</p><p>“Just from my parents,” I replied, not looking up at him.</p><p>I tried studying in the girls’ dormitory, my only safe haven, and had just moved onto the notoriously tricky subject of love potions when I heard a boyish laugh, and to my dismay Daphne and Blaise entered the bedroom (though how exactly he’d gotten past the enchantment, I still don’t know). They sat together and leisurely chatted about whatever it was that had caught their fancy; Daphne’s bed was opposite mine, and I could hear their soft voices on the other end of the room. I hadn’t realized Blaise had come up behind me until he said something snarky—a grin, and “ooh, in need of a love potion, Rosier?”—and I jumped, spilling a bottle of ink all over the parchment.</p><p>He apologized for that, I’ll admit, but I was still annoyed at him.</p><p>He seemed to like this sneaking up tactic, because the following afternoon in the library I was searching for an ancient volume of weather charms and was suddenly alerted by the strong scent of his cologne. I quickly spun around and nearly rammed into his chest; his arm was outstretched, reaching for a book above my head, and the ripple of muscle in his arm and neck made my throat feel dry.</p><p>“Just needed this,” he said innocently—but it was a book on Arithmancy, which he didn’t even take as a class.</p><p>But worst of all: just the night before, I’d asked him to pass me my coffee cup from his side of the table (it was late at night and I was trying to stay awake to get an assignment done for Defence Against the Dark Arts). Zabini got a roguish look on his face and took my outstretched hand in his own, his dark eyes boring into mine as he slowly placed a burning kiss on my skin. I paled and stuttered out some indignant response as he openly laughed at my reaction. When he slid the cup over to my side of the table, he winked <em>again.</em></p><p>Merlin’s great hairy beard, that boy was going to drive me into an early grave.</p><p>“What are you moping around for?” I heard from the doorway, and saw Tracey entering the dormitory.</p><p>I let the old issue of <em>Spellbound</em> I was reading flutter shut and flopped backwards onto the bed. “Nothing.”</p><p>“Blaise again?”</p><p>I sat up. “What?</p><p>Tracey stood at the foot of my bed with an incredulous sort of look on her face. “Oh, come off it, Rosier,” she huffed. “I’ve seen you two. You’re talking again.” A smile crept up onto her lips. “Though I don’t know if flirting qualifies as <em>talking.”</em></p><p>I felt my cheeks warm. “Don’t, Davis,” I warned her.</p><p>At once her expression softened, and she came to sit down beside me. “I know you,” she said earnestly. “I can tell it’s getting to you.”</p><p>I bit my lip. She was right, of course, but I couldn’t admit it to her face. I felt age-old shame and embarrassment coil in my stomach.</p><p>“It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know,” she said, as if she was reading my thoughts, “if you do like him.”</p><p>“You’re joking me,” I scoffed. “We’re not having this conversation.”</p><p>“He’s definitely trying his best to get your attention. You can’t deny that,” she pointed out. “And while I’m no expert on the matter of Blaise Zabini, I am beginning to think he’s quite smitten with you. Perhaps for the second time.”</p><p>I gave her a look I hoped conveyed my utter disbelief. “Are you having me on?”</p><p>She put her hands up defensively. “I’m serious! It’s strange, you know—and don’t get upset at me, but—” she started slowly, as if trying to find the right words, “well, for a long time, it honestly felt like you two would end up together.”</p><p>I looked up at the ceiling. “Yeah,” I said quietly. “I thought so, too.”</p><p>We sat in silence for a while. I idly flipped through <em>Spellbound,</em> landing on a large advertisement for Rose-Tinted Glasses, guaranteed to make you see the world with optimistic eyes.</p><p>“What changed?”</p><p>“I—I don’t really know,” I said. It felt absurd trying to articulate how everything had gone so wrong so quickly when I truly had no idea. “Everything was fine. And then—I don’t know—he just sort of stopped speaking to me all at once.”</p><p>“Was this after the Yule Ball?” she asked, and I said yes, though I think she already knew the answer. She nodded sagely and seemed to be deep in thought for a moment.</p><p>“You can fuck his best friend to get back at him,” she suggested.</p><p>That made me bark out a laugh of surprise. “Who, <em>Draco?</em> Merlin, Davis, don’t be vile.”</p><p>“Don’t let Pansy hear you say that,” she countered, and we burst into a fit of girlish giggles. At once I felt lighter than I had in days. When our laughter had died down, I saw a familiar expression on her face, and by the look of her wicked grin, she had an idea.</p><p>“I should think,” she told me, with the air of a superb witch, “that it’s only fair we give that soggy bastard a taste of his own medicine. There’s a few tricks I’ve been meaning to try, and this might be just the opportunity. Do you have any lipstick on you?”</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I asked again, snapping the cap back on the tube.</p><p>“Positive,” she said, inspecting my face. “You look beautiful.”</p><p>I regarded my reflection in the mirror with apprehension. I hadn’t done much—only a bit of lipstick and rouge, nothing unusual—but it was the <em>type</em> of lipstick that worried me.</p><p>“I’m not so worried about how it looks,” I confessed, taking the ornate tube of lipstick and inspecting it again. It looked completely ordinary—the famous stamp of Lockwood’s Lipsticks on the bottom, in the shade <em>Magnificent Mauve</em>—but there was something special about it that made me so unsure.</p><p>“So this is supposed to make me—”</p><p>“Irresistible!” she exclaimed, quoting the article we’d seen in <em>Witch Weekly. </em>There were seven or so of these charms for enchanting beauty products—with promises for a youthful visage, or for an eloquent silver tongue, or simply a burst of confidence—and while the spells seemed rather weak, the reality of it was starting to frighten me.</p><p>“Yes, but—what does that even mean? How will we know if it works?”</p><p>“We won’t, until we get you down there,” she chided me, and I took another apprehensive look in the mirror. We were supposed to leave for Hogsmeade in just a few moments, and Tracey’s idea was looking less and less appealing by the second. From my reflection, the lipstick looked completely normal; I had no idea how in Merlin’s name it could possibly be enchanted enough to make me, as it promised, <em>irresistible.</em></p><p>“If this makes Crabbe or Goyle try to kiss me, you are dead,” I promised her, and she cackled, putting on her boots.</p><p>“It’s a silly little charm,” she reassured me, checking her outfit in the mirror, “not a love potion. If Zabini is in love with you—”</p><p>
  <em>“Davis—”</em>
</p><p>“—as I believe he is, then this might help bring that out a little. It’s harmless, really! This is kids’ stuff when you think about it. And if he does do something—well, good! Imagine he makes an utter fool of himself. That’s why we thought of this, isn’t it? To get back at him?”</p><p>Reluctantly, I agreed. The thought of making Zabini embarrass himself in front of everyone was rather tempting.</p><p>“Listen, if it doesn’t work, we can try something else,” she said. “Now let’s get going, I want to see the look on his face!”</p><p>I sighed and slipped on my shoes and outer robes. At least it was finally the weekend and I had no homework to worry about for once. I pulled on a hairband to keep my hair out of my face, brushed the dark waves over my shoulder, and hurried out the dormitory, shoes clacking on the stone floor. My heart was racing in my chest. When we reached the Common Room, Daphne stretched her slender legs over the chaise and stood up.</p><p>“Finally!” she exclaimed. “Let’s get going, then. Honeydukes will be closing soon, and if they’re out of Peppermint Toads, you owe me.”</p><p>“And what if they’re closed by the time we get there?”</p><p>She looked aghast. “Don’t even joke about that!”</p><p>“Sorry, Daph,” I laughed. While our Housemates stood to leave, Tracey and I waited in anticipation for Zabini to—well, for him to do anything, really: declare something embarrassingly romantic, embrace me, act like a lovestruck fool. To our great disappointment, however, he did nothing, and wore a rather boringly vacant look as he silently followed Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle out of the room.</p><p>On the long walk down to Hogsmeade through the cool air of early October, Pansy and Draco walked quickly in front, while Millicent and Daphne were having some sort of conversation with Blaise ahead of us. He did not turn around even once, and I was anxious that our scheme had failed.</p><p>We trailed behind them into town and waited patiently while Daphne and Pansy dragged the boys into Honeydukes. As they emerged, with a satisfied Daphne holding a bag of Peppermint Toads, Blaise breezed past us and walked on ahead. When it got rather late in the afternoon, we decided to have a few drinks at the Three Broomsticks, and filed into a large booth at the back of the pub. There were dozens of students in there, no doubt celebrating the weekend, and the sound of chatter and laughter was almost enough to distract me from the fact that our little plan hadn’t worked.</p><p>Tracey and I sipped at our Butterbeer, glancing every so often at our victim, who was listening to something Draco was saying about the Ministry and occasionally took a swig of his red currant rum (how he’d managed to convince Madam Rosmerta to sell him that, I don’t know). He hadn’t said two words to me all day—if anything he was a bit more irritable than usual, so I turned to Tracey.</p><p>“I don’t think this is working,” I whispered.</p><p>“Now that I’m thinking about it, the spell did sound a bit bogus,” she agreed. “Did it really rhyme irresistible with <em>vestibule?” </em>She took another sip of Butterbeer and wiped the foam off the corner of her mouth. “Maybe you need some more,” she suggested, so I pulled the tube of lipstick from my pocket and borrowed a small, gold pocket mirror from Daphne. Carefully, I applied a second layer—and while the colour looked a tad darker, I really felt no different.</p><p>“That’s a lovely colour,” Daphne was saying from across the table, eyeing the tube in my hand. “May I try?”</p><p>“Um, actually—”</p><p>“Of course,” I said, handing her the tube. Before Tracey could say something to cause any suspicion, I shot her a look, and she clamped her mouth shut. Perhaps if Greengrass wore it instead, we’d be able to see if it really did have an effect or not. We watched her expectantly. She applied it with quick, deft strokes, and admired her reflection—admittedly, the colour suited her rather better than me, and if it wasn’t possibly enchanted, I’d half a mind to gift it to her.</p><p>“It’s by Lockwood’s Lipsticks, isn’t it?” she said brightly as she handed it back, looking rather pleased. “I might order one for myself, honestly; it’s far better than Madame Circe’s, I’ll tell you that for free…”</p><p>Even when both Greengrass and I were both supposed to be absolutely <em>irresistible,</em> Zabini did not say or do anything unusual, nor anyone else for that matter. So Tracey and I shared a laugh and agreed it was probably one of our less well-executed tricks.</p><p>“Maybe it’s only irresistible to other girls who want to try it on,” she joked, eyeing Daphne. “She does look pretty, though.”</p><p>Back at the castle, the boys produced a dozen Butterbeers they’d somehow smuggled in with them, and with Pansy’s goods from Honeydukes (some fudge and a large bag of Bertie Bott’s) we had a rather pleasant evening in the Common Room. Blaise, however, had been in a foul temper all day, and even amidst everyone’s good mood it hadn’t subsided. We played a few rounds of cards and, eventually, were too tipsy and tired to play much of anything, so we relaxed in our seats and listened to the Wireless Wizarding Network on the radio.</p><p>After a last sip of Butterbeer, I set it down on the table, and caught Blaise staring with an unreadable expression at the mauve stain on the lip of the bottle, bouncing his leg as if he’d been hit with a Jelly-Legs Jinx. He seemed to be in an even worse humour than before, and that spurred something mischievous within me.</p><p>“Something vexing you, Zabini?” I asked innocently, leaning forward.</p><p>He shook his head and muttered something unintelligible under his breath, tensing his jaw. After a few tense moments, he stalked out of the room without a word.</p><p>Tracey and I shared a look of surprise and delight. Perhaps our plan hadn’t been a complete failure.</p><p>“It must’ve worked after all!” I exclaimed later that night in our room, holding the lipstick tube up proudly.</p><p>“And it was hilarious,” she cackled. “Poor Zabini’s hornier than a toad.”</p><p>This implication made me blush.</p><p>“Oh, come on,” said Tracey with a look of incredulity. “You hadn’t thought of that? What did you think it meant by <em>irresistible,</em> exactly?”</p><p>With this in mind, Tracey and I thought of a different approach to pester the poor boy even more. We took his irritation as a sign that the charm was a success, although it hadn’t really been the anticipated consequence. I wasn’t dismayed by this peculiar response; my friend was infamously crafty, and had more than a few tricks up her sleeve. Childish charms out of <em>Witch Weekly,</em> we decided, were probably not our best bet if we wanted to get a real rise out of him fair and square—and so, by Tracey’s suggestion, over the next few weeks I provoked Zabini whenever I could, albeit in subtler ways.</p><p>“You’ll get a <em>rise</em> out of him, alright,” she joked, waggling her eyebrows suggestively, and I threw my pillow at her face.</p><p>As I slipped in beside him at dinner, I deliberately tucked my hair behind my ear, exposing my neck and jaw; a simple move I’d seen Daphne and Pansy perform quite a few times as a means of catching attention. It was more effective than I’d hoped, and instantly his eyes were upon me. As nonchalantly as I could, I took a sip of my rosewater, intentionally letting the rim of the goblet linger around my mouth. He cleared his throat, but I didn’t look at him; not until he said something.</p><p>We ate in silence for a while, until he finally turned towards me. “So—did you do the Transfiguration homework?”</p><p>I smiled. “Maybe,” I said, and turned back towards my dinner.</p><p>He tried a few more times (all futile) to engage in conversation over the course of the next hour, and I denied him any straightforward answers.</p><p>“September is so tedious,” I sighed after the meal was over and we walked down towards the dungeons.</p><p>He placed his forearm against the wall and leaned in to look down at me, his gaze hard. His handsome face was inches from mine, and I nearly lost my nerve.</p><p>“Then how shall I alleviate your boredom?” he asked, and I was frightened to find he only sounded half-joking. I thought for a moment what alluring thing I could say to taunt him, searching his face for some betrayal of emotion. But of course, there was nothing there. I decided to challenge him.</p><p>“Entice me.”</p><p>The corner of his mouth involuntarily twitched upwards, and I counted that amongst my victories.</p><p>It was rather fun, actually, taking part in his little game when I was not the only one being tormented. No one else seemed to have caught on to the exact nature of our recent interactions, although there had been a definitive shift in the general mood.</p><p>While Blaise did not end up making quite as much of a fool of himself as I was hoping, I soon took great joy in toying with him in this way. At meals, if I wanted something, I would purposefully reach over his side of the table to get it, letting my fingers brush against his arm. Or in class, whenever I needed a second opinion, I would bend over his desk to ask, leaning in close.</p><p>Taking inspiration from Laverne de Montmorency’s favoured ingredients for love potions, I brewed an innocent little concoction (really nothing more than perfume) out of crushed rose petals, essence of moonflower and the rare full bloom of evening primrose. It shimmered an attractive rose pink in its crystal atomizer, and had a pleasant, floral odour that lingered long after I spritzed it on. Whenever I happened to spot a certain Slytherin, I would toss my hair quite casually as I walked past, and the romantic scent would tease lightly in the air. I actually took a liking to it and wore it quite often, even when I wasn’t up to any of my “seductive tricks,” as Tracey liked to call them.</p><p>To his credit, Zabini seemed to have caught on to me quite quickly, because the next time I saw him he emerged from the boys’ dormitories in an elegant bathrobe, freshly showered, dark skin dewy. His wet curls stuck to his forehead and my fingers itched to brush them out of the way. Taking a seat in the green armchair directly opposite mine, he leaned back and regarded the fireplace with a soft, half-lidded gaze. Slowly, absent-mindedly, he dragged a thumb along his handsome lips, and directed his dark eyes at me. My stomach tied itself in knots.</p><p>This back-and-forth was rather subtle, and for the most part I doubted anyone but the two of us noticed. Unlike me, however, Blaise quickly started using his womanizing ways to his advantage: one Charms lesson he sat with Lisa Turpin and she, at his request, ran her fingers through his thick, dark curls. He sent me a casual glance across the classroom as she gushed over him. I wanted to scoff.</p><p>My chest was at once filled with deep disgust and a smug sort of satisfaction at the confirmation that I was evidently starting to get to him.</p><p>One night, after getting caught in the terribly ill-timed October rain following a dreadfully long Astronomy lesson, we warmed ourselves by the fire while Pansy cast a drying charm on our hair and robes. After some deliberation, the girls decided to change into nightwear, after which we huddled together by the fire with steaming cups of tea and a few drops of Warming Potion. Zabini sat back in an armchair opposite us, his tea untouched, looking rather discomposed ever since we had emerged from the dormitory.</p><p>I had lightly dusted my bare arms and shoulders with powdered moonstone and pearl dust borrowed from the Potions supply cupboard, and my skin caught the light in a way that delighted me. From the position I was sitting in, daintily resting against the chaise, I knew my collarbones peeked out from under my pale nightdress ever so slightly—which, while far from scandalous, bordered on sheer in just the right light. In truth, I felt rather pretty.</p><p>“You seem bothered, Zabini,” I remarked, with as unstudied an air as possible. “What’s on your mind?”</p><p>“You’re looking rather vain tonight, Rosier,” he retorted. I was taken aback by the sharpness of his tone, and briefly worried if I looked rather silly, posing like this.</p><p>Draco flipped a page in his book with a snort. “As if you’re one to condemn others for vanity, Blaise,” he said, and for once I was grateful for his snide remarks. “Don’t make me laugh.”</p><p>“I, for one, think you look lovely,” said Tracey. Deftly, she reached forward and caressed my hair in one bold, deliberate movement, and brought a single curl from behind my ear to rest against my breast. “There. Isn’t she striking, Draco?”</p><p>“Simply bewitching,” he said with complete indifference, barely glancing up from his book.</p><p>“Don’t you agree, Blaise?” she asked, twirling my hair between her fingers. From her tone, it was clear she relished baiting him like this.</p><p>Instead of responding, Blaise shot her a piercing glare which, had I not known him any better, I would have mistaken for hatred. Tracey wore a look of utter self-satisfaction; she delighted in tormenting him, I think, even more than I did.</p><p>“How cunning you are,” I praised her later on—a great compliment for a Slytherin.</p><p>She grinned and gave a mock curtsy. “We’re only just beginning, Rosier.”</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>While the little game between Blaise and I started off as quite playful, around mid-October he soon crossed over into a greyer territory that some would identify as bullying.</p><p>One day at lunch, he’d <em>accidentally</em> switched my pumpkin juice for his horrendous nutritional potion, which was supposedly good for after Quidditch training, but tasted like saltwater and smelled like sour piss. I gagged and covered my mouth while the boys roared with laughter. Even the day after that, in the library, he’d levitated my nearly finished Charms assignment up to the ceiling and refused to bring it down unless I granted him a kiss. I nearly choked.</p><p>“Just on the cheek, sweetheart,” he said lightly.</p><p>Suddenly, I was not amused anymore. “In your dreams, Zabini,” I snapped, and, reluctantly, he let my parchment flutter down from the ceiling.</p><p>When owls were delivering packages and letters one morning, a nondescript box flew into my lap, and when I opened it up with a growing sense of suspicion, I discovered it was full of crushed-up Stink Pellets from Zonko’s. I quickly jumped back and slammed the box shut, but it was too late, and laughter erupted from the boys’ side of the table.</p><p>“How did we go from enchanted lipstick to <em>this?”</em> I asked miserably while I doused myself in perfume. Somehow, after two hot showers, I could still feel the rancid odour radiating off my body. After interrogating the boys, we found that while Zabini had given the order, it was Crabbe and Goyle who’d handled the execution—hence the uncharacteristically childish prank giftbox from Zonko’s Joke Shop.</p><p>Tracey didn’t seem at all bothered by the sudden harassment. If anything, she looked excited. “I do believe it’s time for a good old-fashioned hex,” she decided, bringing out a leather-bound tome from under her bed. “Charms and perfume simply won’t do the trick anymore.”</p><p>“What do you have in mind?”</p><p>She broke out into a devilish smile. “Tell me, what is it that Zabini prizes above all else?”</p><p>With his infamous vanity in mind, Tracey vied passionately for the Instant Scalping Hex, but we ultimately decided to spare him at least some of his dignity by not leaving him totally bald, so when I stumbled upon a Quick Colour-Change Jinx, I bookmarked the page. The next morning, we heard an extremely satisfying cry from the boys’ dormitory.</p><p>“Who did this?” a seething Blaise demanded, appearing in his bathrobe. His hair, I was pleased to see, was now a bright orange, and his cheeks were dark with rage. A few Second Years nearby burst into giggles. “I look like a <em>Weasley.”</em></p><p>“Like a cute Weasley,” I piped up, only to be met by a scathing look. Pansy and Tracey tried unsuccessfully to hide their laughter.</p><p>“Rosier.” His tone was dangerous. “What have you done.”</p><p>“Why, nothing, Zabini,” I gasped with mock surprise. “I might be able to think of a way to reverse it, but—oh, no, I seem to have forgotten,” I lamented playfully.</p><p>
  <em>“What do you want.”</em>
</p><p>I had to think for a second. Honestly, I hadn’t anticipated him being this desperate, and his distress was hysterical. “A favour,” I decided, “to be redeemed whenever I please.”</p><p>“Fine!” he cried. “Just please fix this!”</p><p>He cast a quick IOU, and with the easy but obscure counter-jinx I had memorised his hair was soon back to its usual dark, silky curls. He stormed back into the boys’ dorm at once, cheeks darkening with embarrassment. I had never seen Blaise Zabini throw a temper tantrum before—over his hair, no less!—and it gave the girls and I something to laugh about deep into the night.</p><p>“Aren’t you worried about him getting back at you?” asked Pansy, who was aware of the recent pranking, but not so much of the flirtatious game we’d engaged in before this.</p><p>“Yes,” I admitted, giving Millicent’s cat a stroke, “but now, even if he does do anything, he owes me a favour. And anyway, this gave Zabini quite the scare; I have a feeling he won’t pull anything for quite a while.”</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>I was right, in a way, and the week leading up to Hallowe’en was relatively uneventful. With the celebration around the corner and a full moon falling exactly on the thirty-first, we counted ourselves lucky for the special occasion. It also fell on a Saturday, which was double lucky, as we would have no classes.</p><p>While we walked back from the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom late the afternoon of the thirtieth, Tracey was overcome by a wonderful idea, and asked for us all to meet in the Common Room after dinner.</p><p>“By the pricking of my thumbs…” said Blaise as we approached, and I laughed.</p><p>“Who are you witches conspiring against this time?” Draco asked as we settled around a table.</p><p>“No one!” Tracey exclaimed. “But I like your thinking, Malfoy.”</p><p>Draco, intrigued but impatient, waited for clarification.</p><p>“A Hallowmas ritual,” she announced in a low voice, her animated silhouette rather eerie before the dim glow of the fireplace, “in anticipation of the spirit of the season. We really only ever have the feast—and that’s fine, but it’s a little tame for my tastes.”</p><p>“And what would this <em>ritual</em> entail?” said Pansy, narrowing her eyes.</p><p>“A strong drink, I hope,” said Blaise, who was slightly spooked every time he laid eyes on a bright orange pumpkin.</p><p>“Well,” Tracey said slowly, “ideally a bonfire—”</p><p>“No,” I quickly cut in, “maybe Finnigan can help you with that, but I’m not setting fire to the whole school, thank you.”</p><p>“Fine,” she huffed. “Just candles then. And pumpkins, to represent the harvest. Perhaps a few charms and wards for the spirits of the faithful departed, and…a lot of Firewhisky, I’d imagine.”</p><p>“Bring rum and I’ll gladly partake in your mischief,” said Blaise.</p><p>“You have yourself a deal, Mr Zabini.” Tracey looked pleased, but there was a longing look in her eyes. “Oh, I wish we could go for a midnight broom ride, scare some Muggles…”</p><p>We thought the idea of drinking by candlelight sounded rather promising and so we quickly divided our duties. I was in charge of candles, which would be easy as there were literally hundreds around the castle; Tracey and Pansy would handle the charms and wards; Draco was in charge of supplying the drinks, and Blaise, to his dismay, the pumpkins. We invited Daphne, Millicent, and Theodore, and though Daphne seemed morbidly amused by the proposal, the latter two strongly objected.</p><p>“Now then,” said Tracey, clapping her hands together, “we will convene at the witching hour in the Room of Requirement. Don’t forget to bring your wands!”</p><p>At ten to three, the cold stone corridors lit only by the light of the moon, we stumbled upon one another in the corridor of our agreed meeting place. I held thirteen candles under my arm, Draco had two large bottles of red-coloured liquid, and Blaise had, to his credit, stolen several ghoulish jack-o’-lanterns from the courtyard. We waited for Tracey, Pansy, and Daphne, who appeared with devilish giggles, holding bunches of dried herbs and peculiar little slips and stones with runes on them.</p><p>“Are you ready?” she whispered rather ceremoniously, and I could see her eyes glinting in the dark. Instantaneously, an intricate iron door appeared on the wall, and we slipped inside, careful not to make too much noise. It was a large chamber, not unlike any of our classrooms, with high windows to let in the pale light of the nearly full moon. I set about creating a ring of candles on the floor, and whispered “Incendio,” carefully lighting each wick. I blew out the flames from the tip of my wand when I was done, rather pleased with the arrangement. The others had produced various large goblets for drinking and placed the wards and pumpkins within the circle of candles. There was a thrilling chill.</p><p>“How sinister,” Daphne marvelled as we each took a seat on the floor. “I’m rather in the holiday spirit already.”</p><p>Tracey then performed a cleansing rite by lighting a bushel of varying herbs—I could smell sage and rosemary—and walked purposefully around the room, letting the air fill with a light, eye-watering smoke, which, although archaic, did feel rather ceremonial. I could tell she was greatly enjoying herself.</p><p>“And now,” she said gravely, “to initiate the coming ritual, we must each drink from this chalice of blood.” She held it up proudly—it was nearly the size of a soup bowl—and took a generous sip. She then passed it to me, and I took it uncertainly, feeling a bit like she wasn’t letting me in on a joke.</p><p>“I’m not a vampire, Trace,” I told her.</p><p>“Oh, don’t give me that. It’s just tomato juice.”</p><p>I took a cautious sip and passed it. To cleanse our palettes, we then each poured ourselves a goblet—Malfoy had brought the saccharine red currant rum served at the Three Broomsticks, which Zabini appreciatively noted was his favourite—and drank heartily, until it was nearing four o’clock in the morning. Briefly we thought it would be funny to summon a ghost, and touched our hands together to beckon one forth, but we stopped when Daphne and I feared the Bloody Baron might glide in and decide to discipline us.</p><p>In the end, our so-called ritual—which, really, was more of a party—did not invoke the departed souls of martyrs, but it did bring us into the spirit of Hallowe’en.</p><p>“I’m decidedly festive,” hiccupped Pansy, finishing off the last of the rum with a smack.</p><p>Drunkenly, we extinguished the candles and took the empty goblets, but left the pumpkins where they were as we couldn’t be bothered to move them. As we slipped past empty hallways and tiptoed down to the dungeons, Daphne and I rapidly whispered at length about the magical properties of burning sage, which I had previously never been very interested in but was suddenly enraptured by.</p><p>By the time the portrait hole creaked shut, Draco and Blaise were snickering about something, supporting each other’s weight across the room and nearly losing their balance more than once. Pansy was adamant that we all take a few drops of Wiggenweld Potion to help us sober up (a useful trick we’d learned from older students quite a few years ago) and I downed the capful she gave me, though the bitter taste made me gag. Finally, exhausted but happy, we parted ways and retired to our rooms.</p><p>“Happy Hallowe’en, girls,” Blaise called after us, with an oddly sly smile. I put it from my mind, too drunk and sleepy to think much of it.</p><p>In the dark I snuggled deeply into bed, head swimming. For a moment something felt off, but I kept my head down and tried to fall asleep. Suddenly, I felt rather than saw something crawl over my leg and let out a shriek, threw the duvet onto the floor and discovered a dozen large, hairy spiders all over my bed. Gripped by urgent terror, I screamed and bolted for the door, where I was met on the other side by an amused-looking Blaise. My heart was caught in my throat as I realized what he’d done.</p><p>“Like your new bed mates, Rosier?” he asked, and in any other circumstance I might have been charmed by his teasing tone or laughed at what a good scare it was. What I believe he didn’t know was that I was deathly afraid of spiders, and as soon as the words left his mouth I burst into tears. His eyes went wide with panic for a moment and, more from distress or impulse than anything else, I ran into his arms. He held me immediately in a tight embrace and let me cry into his chest.</p><p>“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into my hair, rubbing one hand over my back soothingly. “No more stupid pranks from now on.”</p><p>I sniffled pathetically. “Promise?”</p><p>“I promise.”</p><p>His arms were warm and firm, and I didn’t want to pull away. His robes smelled faintly of rum and candlewax. When I finally let go, I trembled, but Blaise kept his hands securely on my shoulders and levelled me with a sobering look.</p><p>“I’ll go and get rid of them. Alright?” he said, and I had no choice but to nod dumbly. He smoothed my hair down and planted a gentle kiss on my forehead, and then disappeared momentarily into the dormitory. He emerged only a few moments later, stuffing his wand into his pocket.</p><p>“There were thirteen of them, and now they’re all gone,” he reassured me, wiping my cheek with his thumb. “It’s alright, baby.”</p><p>If that was an accidental slip, he hid it remarkably well, and I barely even noticed as he led me back to bed (after double-checking the sheets several times using Lumos). It was only later that the term of endearment would truly register, and I lay in bed with my heart pounding painfully in my chest. It did not escape my notice how natural and right it had sounded coming from his lips, and I heard his voice echo sweetly in my head as I fell asleep.</p><p>When we all roused the following afternoon, heads aching, we let Pansy give us more Wiggenweld Potion and shuffled sleepily to the couches. Neither of us mentioned what had happened the night before, so I assumed it must have been a slip of the tongue and force of habit that led to the kiss. After all, we were drunk. Blaise had always had a way with girls, I reasoned, and perhaps this type of thing was simply second nature to him.</p><p>I didn’t like to think that way, and soon a feeling of melancholy had etched itself in my chest. I gazed at him openly, probably because I was too groggy to realize it. He had grown to be even more beautiful than I had ever anticipated when we were kids. His strong-set jaw, his shapely cupid’s bow, the length of his lashes, the slight slant of his dark eyes. Even hungover, he looked smart and suave; the only evidence of our ritual were the thin, barely noticeable bags under his eyes.</p><p>I saw the glint of a gold necklace around his neck, a small round pendant with the relief of a woman’s profile. It looked strikingly like his mother. I stared at it.</p><p>“Are you alright?” he asked suddenly, and his soft, gentle tone reminded me of his slip the night before. His dark, dark eyes looked at me intently and my heart felt like it would burst. I gave a stiff nod.</p><p>I returned to bed, since I had no plans or homework to do and it was thundering heavily outside. I was enchanted by how bolts of lightning were distorted under the greenish depths of the Black Lake from the dormitory windows, and sat watching fish float by.</p><p>There was a knock on my bedpost.</p><p>“Hey?”</p><p>To my surprise, it was Daphne who hesitantly approached me with a glass of gillywater and asked if I’d like to paint my nails with her. At first, I thought she was doing it out of pity, or perhaps to make some kind of joke, but she seemed earnest. I took her up on her offer, uncharacteristic as it was, and she sat down on my bed, producing various nail varnishes from her velvet cosmetics bag.</p><p>I picked one in a decorative little bottle that supposedly changed colours by day and night. She chose a glossy black which contrasted quite strikingly to her blonde locks and fair complexion.</p><p>I actually quite liked Daphne Greengrass most of the time, despite our rather odd relationship. She was wickedly talented, extremely beautiful, and great fun during a night of witchcraft. I’d always assumed she didn’t like me, and thought she was standoffish—however, meeting her sister Astoria made me realize the Greengrasses simply had a dignified sort of manner about them that I had greatly misunderstood for coldness.</p><p>She and I were by no means great friends—she could give Pansy’s temper a run for her Galleons, and was nowhere near as funny and carefree as Tracey—but, when it came down to it, she probably understood me better than most ever could. She was also one of the few pure-bloods remaining from the Sacred Twenty-Eight. I noticed the locket around her neck bearing the Greengrass crest, and the precise, practiced way she painted each nail; she was the picture of grace and serenity, a darling daughter meant to exude centuries of tradition.</p><p>It really should have been natural for us to befriend one another eventually. I lamented that we had been so distant for so long.</p><p>We did not speak about Blaise, or spiders, or anything we had ever disagreed on over the years. She didn’t speak much at all apart from the occasional throwaway comment or witty remark, and it felt oddly right to sit with her like this, as simply friends.</p><p>When she asked me if I would come down to the Hallowe’en feast with her, I gladly accepted, and linked our arms together. We were quite late, and all the students were already tucked well into dinner. I marvelled as I did every year at the spellbinding display Hogwarts achieved with its decorations, and swatted away a shrieking marshmallow bat as I took a seat beside Daphne and Tracey at the Slytherin table. I was a bit disappointed I’d missed Dumbledore’s annual speech, as those were usually quite entertaining, and helped myself to pumpkin pie and soul cakes. The cobweb tablecloth almost made me laugh.</p><p>When I met Blaise’s eye from across the crowded table, face half-hidden by a giant mountain of cauldron cakes, his handsome mouth broke out into a smile and all the chatter in the Great Hall faded away. I couldn’t help it; an intense feeling of tenderness and adoration swelled in my chest.</p><p>I believed that maybe I loved him again, or maybe that I had never stopped.</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i love daphne, my sweet wife&lt;3</p><p>ps. i know nothing about hallowe'en and i made it all up so if i got anything wrong, let me know!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. part III</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>the green and the black</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>part III</strong>
</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>One cold night, I found my Housemates leisurely drinking Firewhisky in the Common Room, sat closely by the fire. I arrived late from a long evening at the library, which was ill-insulated, and my nose and cheeks were red from the crisp autumn air. There were playing cards on the table and the charred evidence of Exploding Snap, and everyone was dressed down in their sleeping robes and nightwear. I shed my outer robes and pulled the ribbon out of my hair, letting it flutter down my shoulders.</p><p>“Where have you just come from?” asked Pansy.</p><p>“Library. Pour me a glass?” I asked, loosening my tie with ink-stained fingers. Draco reached for the decanter.</p><p>“Here, cousin,” he said amiably, sliding a glass towards me, and charmed a block of ice into it. I felt in high spirits as I took a sip. It was rare to see this kind of casual camaraderie from him.</p><p>Nott perked up. “Cousin?” he repeated. “That’s new.”</p><p>I nodded, swirling the ice around the glass. With our family history being as complex as it was, I’d forgotten that this wasn’t exactly common knowledge. “Only distantly. We share a—great-grandmother, or great-aunt, is it? Druella Black?”</p><p>“Yes, my grandmother, so—your great-aunt?” He sounded unsure. From the uncertain look in his eyes, and the fluidity of his movements, he was probably already a few drinks in.</p><p>“That means you’re second cousins,” said Daphne decisively. She looked lovely in her silk nightdress and I was momentarily amused to note that she and Zabini were sat in the exact same position, one leg crossed over the other, an elegant elbow balanced against an armrest. The pair made a lovely picture, Blaise in black silk and Daphne in white.</p><p>“Yes, something like that,” I agreed, my gaze lingering on the two of them, and took a large gulp of my drink. It burned terribly, but soon a pleasant rush of heat overcame my body and I no longer felt the autumnal chill.</p><p>“Aren’t you <em>all</em> cousins, though?” piped up Terence Higgs from the couch, downing his drink in a single swoop. “The Blacks, Malfoys, Rosiers, Lestranges—”</p><p>There was a ripple of half-hearted laughter, mostly from the boys, but I saw Draco stiffen up. Deep discomfort pooled in my stomach. I never liked to think about the particulars of my lineage except in the broader sense: I was a Rosier, I was a pure-blood, and that was all.</p><p>“At least I’m <em>pure, </em>half-blood,” Malfoy spat, and the mood soured considerably. “Remember your place.”</p><p>Higgs sobered up in an instant and seemed to realize the gravity of what he’d said. “No, no, of course, Draco, I only meant—”</p><p>Draco’s sharp, light eyes were furious. “That’s <em>Malfoy</em> to you,” he hissed, and Higgs shrivelled. I think he admired Draco too much to talk back.</p><p>Crabbe and Goyle tried to clear the air with a light story about some faulty item they’d found in Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, which only served to make Draco more irritable. I diverted my attention to the fire, which someone must have enchanted at some point in the evening. The green flames licked at the black stones of the hearth, glinting in the giant crest of Slytherin up above the mantelpiece. The little black-hearted, beady-eyed silver snake could easily have sprung to life and slithered down onto the carpet.</p><p>Subconsciously I touched a finger to the signet ring on my left hand, feeling the ornate crest of Rosier embedded in the cool metal. I thought suddenly of my uncle in Azkaban, and at once the Firewhisky lost all appeal.</p><p>My father once told me that my uncle had a vile and wicked black heart, and that was why he was now rotting. I had never met the man—the First Wizarding War had ended just as I was born—but found it curious that the very cause he’d lived and almost died for seemed identical to our family’s teachings. My parents thought Muggle-borns and half-bloods befouled our school, that blood traitors should be disowned—and yet they claimed to fear He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I think they secretly revered him, but I would never dare accuse them of that much.</p><p>The green and the silver. The green and the black.</p><p>Back in First Year, I’d long since figured out what being a true Slytherin meant, for better or for worse. Ambition. Self-preservation. Cunning. Tradition. It was a constant battle between a terrible, gnawing feeling of inadequacy and the stubborn pride of superiority; a consistent strive to be the best, regardless of the consequences. I saw it in Draco quite plainly, whenever he would speak highly—and rather loudly—of his family, or whenever he would taunt Potter. I couldn’t blame him, not really, for acting the way he did. I knew his family well, and the Malfoys were as infamously intolerant towards blood traitors as the Blacks.</p><p>Although I could not find it within myself to approve of his bravado, I did understand. A pang of sympathy seeped over me as I looked upon Draco’s enraged face.</p><p>Growing up with the pervasiveness of blood and decorum placed above all else, I felt at once a deep connection to my Housemates and our shared condition. Although none of us ever dared voice this aloud, we all felt the incredible weight of our respective families at all times—some more than others, of course. Malfoy was crushing under it. Pansy and Millicent got by, but then again, they truly believed in the sanctity of blood purity (I was not quite so convinced, though I had the sense to keep this to myself). I believe half-bloods like Blaise or Tracey felt considerably less pressure, and were thus freer—to be themselves, to get up to mischief, to mingle with the other Houses.</p><p>There was also the frightful matter that far too many of our very own relatives had ended up as Death Eaters all those years ago, and were now still paying the price. It was something we never dared speak of, but that we all understood. I had felt this morbid kinship with the other pure-bloods long before we’d even been officially Sorted—and, somehow, this was both a great comfort and a greater burden.</p><p>It was difficult to imagine what Hogwarts would be like with the carefree spirit of Gryffindor. The thought was nearly inconceivable, now.</p><p>I was stirred from my thoughts when Blaise gently placed his hand on mine, and I realized I had been gripping the glass so tightly with both hands that my knuckles were pale. I quickly set it down on the table. His fingers were warm as they lingered kindly over my own.</p><p>“Are you alright?” he asked quietly. He was mesmerizing under the green glow of the fire. It cast flickering shadows in the sharp lines and corners of his face and in the deep, elegant swoop of his neck, and I was overcome by the overwhelming temptation to trail open-mouthed kisses down his skin.</p><p>More than anything, his sudden display of tenderness had perplexed me, and all at once the silly little power play between us seemed completely absurd.</p><p>I mustered a smile, but could not think of what to say.</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>The necklace was lying on my bed. No note, no giftbox, no indication as to who it was from—and yet I instantly knew who it was.</p><p>I picked up the delicate chain and found it was a heart-shaped pendant, fashioned out of silver. A sort of romantic, happy warmth ran over me, and while the girls busied themselves with braiding their hair and trying on their finer robes, I sat by the vanity, admiring my reflection like a giddy little fool. I had on a black dress with a sharp dip in the neck that framed the silver heart beautifully.</p><p>“I don’t think I’ve seen that before,” said Tracey, coming up behind me to pull my hair back with a black ribbon. “Pretty.”</p><p>“It’s just a necklace,” Pansy remarked with what I liked to believe was a twinge of envy, buttoning up an elaborate emerald-green blouse.</p><p>“Jealousy does not become you, Parkinson.”</p><p>I watched them squabbling back and forth in the reflection of the gilded mirror and twirled my signet ring around my finger, humming absentmindedly. I painted my lips a deep red and applied plenty of rouge—it was, after all, a special occasion.</p><p>Around once a term, the older Slytherin students would host a party—an urbane, formal sort of gathering that didn’t involve Firewhisky shots or juvenile games of Truth or Dare, but instead promised wine and music.</p><p>In early November, we decided it was time to indulge.</p><p>The Seventh Years had outdone themselves. The dim Common Room had been cleared of younger students, who were sent straight to bed at lights out, and the fireplace was burning romantically low. On the ceiling, the chandelier, a permanent but usually idle fixture, was lit with frozen flames in shades of blue and sea green, filling the room with a dusky, cool hue. Couples sat around the fire or draped themselves on the chaise longue in a rather picturesque way, and underneath dark garments and sharp silhouettes were the subtle glints of precious metal and pearl.</p><p>For the most part, Slytherin functions were inclined to be more sophisticated and not quite as foolhardy as I’d heard Gryffindor parties be described. As with most things left in the hands of young witches and wizards, however, these tended to turn rather debauched towards the end of the night (and admittedly, I myself had once dipped my toe into trying the infamous Moon Elixir, supposedly invented by some ambitious Potions students years ago: a light infusion of wormwood, bloodvine, and a few drops of moondew, and while it didn’t quite cause hallucinations as promised, it was still a certified fun time).</p><p>Draco, Blaise, and Theo hadn’t arrived yet—I assumed they must have been pre-drinking or up to some other amusement in their dormitory—and Vincent and Gregory were playing an improvisational game of Old Hag, stacking up Galleons on the table. I relished the atmosphere: the sounds of sharp young voices, the tinkling of crystal flutes and goblets, and occasional bright bubbles of laughter interwove pleasantly with the grainy record of Celestina Warbeck’s greatest hits. Tracey and I swayed intimately on the floor to the smooth, silvery melodies, hands clasped. Our dark dresses fluttered lightly around our legs as we twirled (rather gracelessly, on my part).</p><p>The girls had left to mingle with a group of Seventh Year boys (of which we jokingly noted Pucey was amongst them, much to Millie’s chagrin) while I went to find another drink. I still hadn’t seen Blaise, and I was anxious for him to see me with the necklace on; it felt like the game between us had ended and we were finally inching towards becoming something official. I felt absolutely lovestruck, like I’d put on a pair of Rose-Tinted Glasses, and everything in the room looked charming and delightful.</p><p>“Not a big fan of hers, myself,” came a voice from behind me, and I turned to find a smiling Theodore Nott with two crystal goblets of red wine in his hands. He handed me the second, and I accepted it with thanks. I could tell he was drunk, or at least well on his way.</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“The Singing Sorceress,” he clarified in a mocking tone, and I realized I’d been humming along to <em>A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love.</em></p><p>“Oh, well, you know,” I replied, taking a courteous sip of wine, “she’s really quite sensational.”</p><p>Now that I had a drink, I was ready to re-join the girls, but Nott seemed to want to continue the conversation. I had nothing personally against Nott, but my opinion of him was not particularly sparkling—he was a typical Slytherin boy in that he never could keep his damning judgements to himself, and rejected all outside rationalization (and in truth, I had always secretly maintained that if the Dark Lord were to rise again, Nott would be the first to sign up as Death Eater). In short, he was a bigot, and talking to him for any amount of time inevitably led to an argument. Unfortunately for him, I was not really in the mood for a row tonight.</p><p>“Enjoying the soirée?” he asked, and before I could think of a way to excuse myself, he made a noise of surprised satisfaction. “Well, well,” he said suddenly, “you’re wearing the necklace I gave you.”</p><p>My hand flew up to touch the pendant. “What?”</p><p>“I’m glad to see that you like it,” he continued, with a slick grin, “because, as you can imagine, there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you…”</p><p>I dreaded what was coming and felt it would be best to turn him down kindly before he said any more. “Theo, that’s very sweet of you, but I’m afraid I have to—”</p><p>“Is this because of Zabini?” Nott interjected with a look of disbelief. When I said nothing, he turned his nose up at me. “That half-blood? Look at him now.” With a jab, he nodded towards the other end of the room where I saw with a cold pang that Blaise and Daphne were talking by the window, backlit by the dark green glow of the loch, looking elegant as ever.</p><p>“I was just telling Greengrass we pure-bloods should stick together, and look at what she does. It’s delusional, really…”</p><p>“I’m sorry, Theo,” I told him plainly, forcing myself to look away from the pair, “but I’m simply not interested.”</p><p>Nott frowned, knocked back his wine in a single gulp, and set it down with a harsh bang. It seemed he had not anticipated this. “Not interested?”</p><p>“No,” I confirmed.</p><p>“Don’t tell me you’d prefer a half-blood over me,” he chuckled, touching his hand to my wrist. His beady eyes looked frightening in the dim blue glow of the chandelier.</p><p>My mouth fell open. “That’s not—”</p><p>“Just take Parkinson and Malfoy,” he continued, and I thought of the dysfunctional half-couple, “how it should be.”</p><p>“You are <em>drunk,”</em> I told him, “you don’t know what you’re saying.”</p><p>“Face it, Rosier, we’re predestined. Greengrass will come to her senses at some point, but in the meantime…”</p><p>The look he gave me made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Swiftly, he swooped in and attempted to push his mouth against mine, but I turned my head at once and it landed on my jaw. It was wet and smelled overbearingly of sour wine, and his grip on my wrist had tightened to the point of pain. With a just flare of rage, I pushed him away and ripped my wrist free.</p><p>“I said <em>no—”</em></p><p>“You’re making this harder than it needs to be, sweetheart,” he laughed, and I wanted to hex the ugly grin off his face. I felt for my wand in my pocket and gripped it tightly, ready to hold it to his neck, but composed myself at the last second. The last thing I wanted to do now was start a duel and get us into trouble.</p><p>Suddenly another wand was held against Nott’s pale neck while a tight hand steadily gripped his shoulder.</p><p>“Don't do something you’ll regret, Nott,” said Blaise, remarkably composed.</p><p>Nott let out a smug snort, but his eyebrow twitched anxiously. “Threatening me, half-blood?” he hissed. “I thought we’d spoken about this, Zabini.”</p><p>“Theodore, don’t do this—” Blaise was saying, and I rushed out of the room. We had gathered quite a bit of attention already and it made me sick to think that anyone had seen that ogre kiss me, however briefly.</p><p>I ran out of the portrait hole and into the dungeons. I had begun to cry. My fingers fumbled to unclasp the burning necklace from around my neck and ripped it off, clutching the sharp heart with my trembling fist. I was blind with rage and embarrassment. Behind me I heard my name echo through the corridor, but I didn’t look up until Blaise had already caught up with me. He looked slightly startled, clutching a goblet.</p><p>“Hey—” he began in a faraway tone, as if searching for the words. “Are you alright?”</p><p>I nodded stiffly.</p><p>“I’ll hex him,” he said darkly, “I’ll curse that foul mouth of his. Just say the word.”</p><p>I shook my head. “It’s not worth it.”</p><p>“He needs to be taught a lesson.” His dark eyes flickered momentarily to my hand around the pendant. “That necklace…”</p><p>“I thought it was from you,” I mumbled, shoving the damned thing into my pocket. “I feel so stupid.”</p><p>He looked wholly taken aback. “Oh.” He paused. Perhaps I was merely seeing what I wanted to see, but I thought he looked rather relieved. “He was bragging about it earlier.”</p><p>“If I’d known it was from that slimy little weasel, I never would’ve—”</p><p>“I know,” he reassured me, and offered me the goblet he was holding. “Here. Just gillywater.”</p><p>I took it from him with shaky fingers and took a sip. I did feel slightly better. Blaise was keeping his distance, hovering like a worried mother.</p><p>“I’m okay,” I said when he stayed silent.</p><p>He nodded, mostly to himself. It was difficult to see his face in the dim torchlight. “I’m just worried about you.”</p><p>“I’m fine,” I told him, “really.”</p><p>He paused then, and the distance between us felt universes wide.</p><p>“I’m sorry about everything,” he said suddenly. “Maybe we shouldn’t speak.”</p><p>This sudden change in attitude confounded me and I took an involuntary step forward. “What? Why?”</p><p>“Well, he’s right, in a way,” he said, visibly uncomfortable, “about me—being a half-blood. Not about anything else,” he quickly added.</p><p>My anger flared up again. “Has he been going around saying this?”</p><p>“Just earlier tonight,” he admitted. “That you are one of the few pure-bloods in our year, and so is he…”</p><p>“And you didn’t say anything?”</p><p>He looked guilty. “But he’s right.”</p><p>I could not believe my ears. “Who cares?”</p><p>“You,” he began, “Malfoy, Parkinson, the entire—”</p><p>“No I don’t,” I corrected him.</p><p>“You’re a pure-blood and I’m not, we’ve always known that—”</p><p>“I don’t care about that, Blaise,” I said, my voice rising, and he looked so taken aback that for a moment I wondered if I’d done something wrong, and I quickly realized that I had said his name. “I’ve never cared about that. I care about <em>you.”</em></p><p>The words were out before I could stop them, and I felt my eyes wet again—with relief, with fear. I had not said his first name out loud in over a year, and certainly not to his face. My face felt hot.</p><p>He said nothing for a long, terrifying moment, and then,</p><p>“I can’t do this again.” He let out a long breath, raking his hand through his hair. “Not with you.”</p><p>“Neither can I,” I said, exasperated.</p><p>This seemed to irritate him. The muscles in his jaw flexed tersely. “Then maybe,” he said, and the anger in his tone surprised me, “maybe you shouldn’t have ignored my letter, and none of this would have been a problem.”</p><p>“What?” Why was he changing the subject? “What are you talking about?”</p><p>“Don’t do this to me,” he said.</p><p>“Well, I don’t know what you’re on about, so you’re going to have to explain it to me!”</p><p>He caught his breath and looked at me with a hard, horrible expression I never wanted to see again. “You don’t know what I’m on about,” he said sarcastically. “You don’t know about the letter you ignored for months.”</p><p>“What—”</p><p>His voice was rising. “You don’t remember breaking my heart? Ignoring me? You don’t remember<em> that </em>letter?”</p><p>“No, I don’t! And you’re the one who ignored me, not the other way around!” My voice echoed through the stone corridor, shrilly piercing my ears. “Everything was fine before you stopped talking to me—after that Christmas, and—and I didn’t even do anything!”</p><p>There was a look of distrust and confusion in the harsh lines of his face. “Are you serious?” he scoffed. “I sent you the owl the <em>day</em> I came home, but you never replied. You never sent anything back. Not even a visit.” The bitterness in his voice was biting. “And then I hear about your parents strongly advising my mother that you <em>preferred the company of your pure-blood friends—”</em></p><p>“My parents?” I repeated. We looked at each other at the exact moment I realized what had happened, like a cold douse of Aguamenti to the face.</p><p>“An owl came. From your family. Do you know how embarrassed I was? <em>That </em>was my answer—”</p><p>“And you thought that sounded like me?” I demanded. “Tracey’s my best friend, you idiot!”</p><p>“That’s not the same,” he snapped. “Tracey’s not in love with you.”</p><p>“It wasn’t me who said that. I would never say that,” I insisted, though my heart raced at his words. “I would never want you to stop talking to me, not ever, I promise. And<em> you’re</em> the one who didn’t reply to my owls, I sent you dozens that holiday. I was just—” I stopped myself before I could make any more of a mess, but the words came out anyway. “I was just in love with you, Blaise,” I said, hating how pathetic my voice sounded, “that’s all.”</p><p>There was a horrible silence. Slowly, he took a step towards me, his hardness unravelling. “The letter—you don’t know?”</p><p>“I honestly don’t know the letter you’re referring to.” I couldn’t stop crying. I yearned to reach forward and close the endless distance between us.</p><p>He parted his lips to speak but no words came out, so he cleared his throat, averting his gaze to the wall.</p><p>“After what happened at the Yule Ball,” he started, looking a bit embarrassed, “I wrote you—a letter. Asking you to be my…” The implication hung heavily in the air, unspoken, but I understood. “Well, it doesn’t matter now.”</p><p>His words made me burst into fresh, hot tears, and at once his demeanour softened completely. He said my name then, which only made me cry harder. I don’t think my heart had ever ached as much as the moment he said my name.</p><p>“Hey,” he said gently, reaching out to lightly touch my shoulders. At the soft, inviting warmth of his fingers, I launched myself into his arms, and he held me tightly. The smell of sandalwood. The softness of his jumper. The cold goblet in my hand. I wanted to commit the feeling forever to my memory.</p><p>“I’m sorry, darling,” he said into my hair. “I should’ve known. I should’ve…” His chest rose and fell as he let out a deep, shuddering sigh.</p><p>“I just wanted to be with you,” I said, my voice muffled by his shoulder.</p><p>“So did I,” he said thickly, and it sounded like he was crying. He kissed the crown of my head so gently, I nearly thought I’d imagined it.</p><p>The thought of Blaise shedding any tears for me pierced my heart, and we stayed that way for a long, long time.</p><p>When we eventually returned to the Common Room, hands fidgeting so as not to touch one another, I was relieved that nobody noticed the redness of our eyes—or at least, nobody remarked upon them. Blaise took the necklace and promised to give it back to Nott, and though I urged him not to abuse the boy, he said he couldn’t promise that much.</p><p>By the look of the empty bottles of wine, the tell-tale silver glow of Moon Elixir being passed around, and the many couples hiding in dark corners, the others had only just begun their descent into dissipation. Although the night was far from over, I could not take any more, and went to sit in the cold, empty dormitory.</p><p>Blaise hesitantly ran his thumb over my knuckles before I left, with a solemn, mournful look in his eyes, but I could not bear to see him.</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>We didn’t exactly ignore one another after the revelation the night of the party, but we happened not to speak or see each other much during the weeks that followed. I was consumed by anger and fear of my parents, who, in essence, had robbed me of two years of love and happiness—but I dared not write them to demand the truth. I could guess what had happened: they had seen Blaise’s letter before me, decided he was not fit, and took swift action to sever the ties between our families. It was almost theatrical how this simple misunderstanding had played out, and I bitterly resented the past two years of heartache.</p><p>As if by design, we missed each other at meals in the Great Hall, happened to sit on opposite ends of the room during class, and passed by each other on the path to Hogsmeade. I saw him frequently talking to Selina Moore in the Common Room, although they had broken it off back in Fifth Year, and I didn’t know how to feel about that. I didn’t know how to act or what to say, or whether I even had a right to feel jealous. Blaise gave me no indication. During these brief encounters, he would nod politely, or give me an uneasy half-smile, or simply look away.</p><p>I was at a loss. I didn’t know what to do with him, so I did nothing.</p><p>It was clear now that neither of us had wronged the other—at least, not intentionally. But—and I can only speak for myself—the misconception that he had used and rejected me had been an all-consuming source of heartache for the majority of two years, and it was difficult to shake. We should have forgiven each other there and then, I suppose, and start to date, but so much had changed since the Yule Ball.</p><p>I was also terribly embarrassed. I had not only sobbed for an hour, but openly declared my love for him. The memory alone was enough to make me cringe.</p><p>I started to spend a lot of time in my bed, reading N.E.W.T. textbooks late by a candle with Millicent’s cat snuggled on my lap. I had also started to go on long walks by the Blake Lake or around the castle grounds with Daphne, and at first we didn’t find very much to talk about, but soon we were such fast friends that I wondered how in Merlin’s name we had never gotten on in the past. I treasured her.</p><p>I found it nearly impossible, however, to tell my friends the great flurry of confusion that had occurred between Blaise and me. I wanted to, I think, but I didn’t know how. By their worried glances and questioning looks, I think they had long started to suspect something had happened, but I was grateful that they never asked. Daphne did come close, once, while we were walking by the loch late one afternoon. It was December already and the winter air was aggressively cold.</p><p>“I was talking to Blaise yesterday,” she said in passing, after a long conversation we’d had about her past relationship with Padma Patil. “About Padma.”</p><p>“Oh,” I said, suddenly at a loss for words. I pulled my scarf over my chin.</p><p>“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” said Daphne, “but I think you should know that he isn’t doing very well. At least, I don’t think he is.”</p><p>“Oh,” I said again.</p><p>“Not that he’s your responsibility, of course, but,” she continued, skipping a pebble across the water, “I know you care for him.”</p><p>Six smooth skips rippled on the surface of the loch. I watched her back as she took a step towards the rocky shore to find another suitable pebble. She had braided a dark blue ribbon into her blonde hair, and it blew elegantly in the cold breeze. I hesitantly approached.</p><p>“Can I tell you something?” I asked, and she nodded. “Before you say anything, I know it’s stupid, but—for a long time I thought you two were…” I kicked at the rock. <em>“Involved.”</em></p><p>“What? No!” she cried, and threw her head back to laugh. Her voice pierced the air like a bell. “I’m a lesbian!”</p><p>“I just assumed you swung both ways!” I said—and it’s true, I usually did, as most witches and wizards I knew had no real preference. “And you did kiss Nott that time.”</p><p>“Yes, back in Third Year,” she said with disgust, “before I realized I only like girls.”</p><p>“I can see why you and Zabini are such good friends, seeing as that’s his biggest hobby,” I joked, and she laughed again. I found a smooth, flat rock and tried to fling it across the water, but it sank on the first skip.</p><p>“He is rather terrible, isn’t he?” she said knowingly. “I’ve told him he really shouldn’t—fraternize so much.”</p><p>I pictured him and Selina, and it made me feel heavy. “He’s a single wizard, Daph,” I deadpanned, “he can do as he pleases.”</p><p>“That’s the thing, he—” she began, and quickly stopped herself. “Well. It really isn’t my place to say. You should speak with him.”</p><p>I regarded her for a moment. Her pale blue eyes were cool and firm. I noticed happily that she was wearing the lipstick I had gifted her—in <em>Magnificent Mauve, </em>not enchanted this time. It was really no surprise everyone thought there was something going on between them; I’d never even known they were such close friends until this year, and with Zabini’s reputation it was easy to make the assumption they must be something more. They were the two most beautiful people in our year and, despite myself, I still thought they made a lovely pair.</p><p>“You’re a good friend, Greengrass,” I told her then. “I’m glad he has you.”</p><p>“So do you,” she quickly assured me, clutching my arm.</p><p>“Well,” I said jokingly, “I have no complaints about you yet.”</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>“Amortentia,” Professor Slughorn was saying over a steaming cauldron, “is the most potent and powerful love potion in the world. Love potions are notoriously tricky, you see! You can recognize this particular brew by its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen, the steam rising in characteristic spirals, and—perhaps most interestingly!—it has another unusual quality about it. Can anyone tell me what that is? Miss Granger?”</p><p>“Amortentia has a multi-faceted scent,” said Hermione enthusiastically, “and it’s supposed to smell differently to everyone, according to what attracts them!”</p><p>“Excellent! Five points to Gryffindor,” said Professor Slughorn, looking very pleased. “Would any brave young soul like to come up and test this theory? How about you, Mr Potter?”</p><p>Harry shuffled forward, looking rather uncomfortable, and I could swear the first thing he said was <em>treacle tart. </em>Professor Slughorn was suitably amused by this, and picked more poor victims to test their sense of smell. None were quite as amusing as Potter’s.</p><p>“Miss Rosier, if you’d please!”</p><p>I approached the cauldron warily, very aware of the professor’s curious eyes looming over me.</p><p>“I can smell…” The scent was overwhelming, and yet pleasant. “Something Christmassy—like a pine tree—and rum…”</p><p>“Rum!” repeated Slughorn, delighted. “Well, I won’t tell Dumbledore if you won’t! We all love to indulge now and again, hm?”</p><p>“And, err…” There was another warm, sweet scent I almost couldn’t place. A heated blush rose to my cheeks.</p><p>“Oh,” I said with sudden realization, “sandalwood.”</p><p>I ducked my head away from Blaise’s desk as I walked back to my seat, mortified. I should have lied and said tea, or lavender, or anything <em>but.</em></p><p>To my horror, Blaise was called next. He looked like he would rather die than go up and announce to the whole class what he was attracted to.</p><p>“Mr Zabini,” said Professor Slughorn, patting his shoulder amiably, “now tell us, what do you smell? Is it a broomstick handle, as Mr Potter’s was?” He chuckled, but Blaise did not look amused. He hovered over the potion uncertainly. The smoke rose like little curly love hearts tickling his face and dissipated thinly into the air.</p><p>“Well,” he started to say, regarding the cauldron rather coldly, “coffee.”</p><p>“Yes? Anything else?” prompted Slughorn.</p><p>“Clean bedsheets,” he said gravely, “and something…floral. Rose, I think.”</p><p>He looked up from the simmering potion and met my eyes with an unreadable expression, and my blush deepened.</p><p>“How interesting!” said the professor, although I think he was beginning to lose interest in his students’ favoured scents, as he swiftly carried on with the lesson. At the end of class, when Slughorn dismissed us, I slyly pretended to inspect the chalkboard to smell the nearby Amortentia again. I wished I could carry a vial of it around and smell it all day.</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>no one:<br/>pure-blood families: sweet home alabama ;)</p><p>note on amortentia - i like to think that out of the 3-4 scents, a few will be romantic and a few might be comforting. apart from rose perfume and coffee, i couldn't think of another thing blaise might like, so i picked clean bedsheets (i imagine from the amount of time he spends in other people's beds, clean sheets are a must). it's also a sweet, domestic type of thing i think softened his character.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. part IV</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>the green and the black</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>part IV</strong>
</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>The next time Blaise and I truly spoke, I spotted him, surprisingly, in the library. He rarely ever ventured to that part of the castle alone—not unless I or some eager new girl forced him there, or if he and Draco were on a bothersome streak and were trying to convince me to share my finished homework with them. I actually hadn’t seen Blaise in that part of the school at all since he’d levitated my Charms assignment up to the ceiling for a kiss—a memory I had admittedly grown fonder of over time.</p><p>I stood awkwardly in the doorway, staring at the spot where he sat by a high window looking so regal in his white dress shirt, and was struck by the sudden urge to run. I hesitated long enough for him to spot me from the corner of his eye, and he gave me a rare smile, which I took as an invitation to join him. (Besides, it would be rude to try and escape now, as much as I wanted to.)</p><p>“Hello,” I said rather uncertainly, pulling up a chair opposite him. I was very aware of the unspoken fact that we hadn’t properly seen each other for weeks.</p><p>He was still smiling, a little tensely. “Hey.”</p><p>There was an uncomfortable silence. I pulled my bookbag onto my lap and collected my ink and favourite quill and fresh roll of parchment and all the books I’d gathered on Advanced Conjuration.</p><p>“Is that the Transfiguration essay?” I asked him, recognizing his open textbooks. If it was, I was impressed; he was over halfway done, and I hadn’t even started on it yet.</p><p>“Yeah, it’s a real pain in the arse,” he said, a bit too loudly for the setting, and I held back a laugh. “Leaving homework a bit late, are we?”</p><p>“I’ve been distracted,” I said in my defence. It sounded far less playful and more pathetic than I’d meant it to.</p><p>His sly grin slowly fell into a strange, faraway look. “Oh. Right.”</p><p>We fell silent again. I started to outline the implications of Gamp’s Law of Elemental Transfiguration, jotting down some passages and notes from the textbook when all of a sudden Zabini stopped writing and stretched his arms leisurely over his head, looking rather feline. He cracked his neck from side to side and flexed his writing-hand. I caught a strong whiff of his sandalwood cologne, making my entire chest clench painfully with yearning—I thought of the Amortentia, and my mouth went dry. I vaguely remembered I wasn’t wearing my rose perfume that day.</p><p>Although Daphne told me he wasn’t doing very well, Blaise seemed to me to be doing just fine. He looked well-rested, content; he acted like his usual suave self around our Housemates; he played Quidditch and went to Hogsmeade and flirted with girls and excelled in class and did everything bright young Hogwarts students did.</p><p>I hadn’t promised Daphne I would speak to him, like she’d urged me to, because—well—in all honesty I wouldn’t know what to say. There was simply too much to talk about, a mountain of painful things to unpick. It was like a box of Liquorice Snaps: once you opened it up to pick just one, all of them would come launching out to bite; in other words, if I spoke to him now, soon everything would be out in the open. Our feelings—past or present—could never be kept a secret again, and that frightened me.</p><p>Right now all I wanted to do was focus my essay, but this horrible silence between us was unbearable. It felt like I needed to at least try.</p><p>“I was dreading this,” I told him quietly, and his quill stopped mid-sentence.</p><p>“The essay?” he asked, in what I think was an awkward attempt at a joke.</p><p>“No, um…” I dipped my quill in the inkbottle and hovered it over the parchment. I felt his hot gaze upon me and froze. No, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t. “Yeah, actually. Professor McGonagall really has it in for us this year. Don’t know how I’ll be able to finish thirty inches on such short notice,” I babbled.</p><p>Blaise regarded me sceptically for a moment.</p><p>“You’ll be alright,” he said finally. “You’re cunning enough to find a way.”</p><p>“I’ll steal yours if you’re not careful,” I replied, and he gave me a small, amused smile before he resumed writing. I started on my essay, but had little luck in forming so much as a single coherent sentence. I crossed out several words at once, my quill fluttering restlessly. Soon my fingers and parchment were covered in thick blotches of ink.</p><p>I glanced at Blaise. I can’t fathom why, but seeing him in such an intimate moment—his jaw set, brow furrowed in concentration, dark curls styled as always—felt forbidden. I couldn’t help but be drawn in by everything he did; his occasional little sighs, his fingers tapping impatiently on the table, or the way his quill glided effortlessly over the parchment. His downturned face was so strikingly handsome in the bleak December light that I didn’t know what to do with my hands. My nails dug into my own palm as my fingers clung helplessly to my quill.</p><p>He pursed his lips. It was mesmerizing.</p><p>I thought of how he’d kissed me on the forehead, only twice: once the night before Hallowe’en and once in the corridor after the party. I wondered, not for the first time, what it all meant, and who else he kissed so casually, who else he called his <em>baby </em>and <em>darling,</em> and whether it made him feel the same as me, because every time I thought of it all I could feel was a wonderful warmth in my heart and a dreadful heat in the pit of my stomach—</p><p>“Finally finished,” Zabini sighed, setting his quill down. He let the ink dry and then rolled up his parchment. I wondered how long I’d been sitting there—all I had was a title and several lines scratched out. It was suddenly dark outside.</p><p>He slung his bag over his shoulder and stood, tapping the desk in front of me with his finished essay. “You coming? It’s nearly dinnertime.”</p><p>“I think I’d better stay here,” I said, gesturing sheepishly at my horrible excuse for an essay. “I really need to finish this.”</p><p>Blaise looked a bit doubtful. “Don’t let that old cat keep you from eating,” he said, and it took me a second to realize he meant McGonagall. “One essay isn’t so important.”</p><p>“I’ll go down to the kitchens later,” I said a bit too quickly, suddenly wishing desperately for him to leave me to my thoughts. “Promise.”</p><p>He shrugged, shifting his bag higher onto his shoulder. “You know best,” he said rather coldly, and turned to leave.</p><p>I panicked. Did I say something wrong? Did he hate me?</p><p>“Blaise,” I called after him with a sudden wave of anxiety.</p><p>He looked at me with that famously unreadable expression of his.</p><p>“I missed you,” I said hesitantly.</p><p>His eyes softened. “Me too.”</p><p>“Friends?” I asked, although I meant something entirely different.</p><p>His expression didn’t change. My heart felt like it would burst.</p><p>“Friends,” he finally confirmed, granting me his signature charming smile, and coolly left the library. I tried not to watch him leave, but that was impossible.</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>“Rosier,” Pansy said one afternoon, “come with us.”</p><p>I looked at their wicked smiles in the reflection of the vanity and set my hairbrush down. “What are you up to?” I asked suspiciously.</p><p>“Come along and you’ll see,” Tracey promised. “Here, let me. You’ve always been helpless at doing your hair.”</p><p>She fixed my braid in place with a ribbon and pulled me from my seat. “Hang on a minute,” I protested, fumbling to slide my shoes on. “What’s all this about?”</p><p>The two conniving witches led me to the boys’ dormitory, which, while supposedly forbidden, didn’t have any kind of shielding spell on it. Apart from a handful of times during my brief, awkward affair with Sebastian Daley in Fifth Year, I never set foot in there (and not nearly as much as Pansy did, when she was on-again with Draco).</p><p>Malfoy, Zabini, Greengrass, Crabbe and Goyle were all there, and I noted with relief that Nott wasn’t amongst them. The girls brought me to sit where they’d all gathered on what I assumed was Malfoy’s bed.</p><p>“What’s all this about?” I asked, smoothing my skirt over my knees. “Don’t you four have a match to be getting ready for?”</p><p>“That’s what we told them,” said Draco, looking quite annoyed at the sudden interruption. He was already fully dressed in his Quidditch uniform.</p><p>“About the match,” said Tracey excitedly, “that’s why we gathered all of you here! It was Pansy’s idea.”</p><p>I didn’t like the look on her face, but I didn’t interrupt.</p><p>“I thought it would be funny,” said Pansy, “if we could mess with those badgers a bit.”</p><p>“Are you suggesting we cheat, Parkinson?” said Blaise, cocking an eyebrow. I noticed with a blush that his bathrobe had fallen open slightly at the waist and a deep slice of his chest was peeking out. He caught me looking and I quickly glanced away.</p><p>“No,” said Pansy slyly, “because <em>you</em> won’t be the one doing it. We will,” she said, gesturing at the girls.</p><p>“We discovered some undetectable hexes earlier, perfect for this sort of thing,” said Tracey excitedly. “Hives, itching, a sudden urge to <em>relieve</em> yourself, blindness…”</p><p><em>“Blindness?”</em> I repeated.</p><p>“Oh, it’s only temporary,” she said with a wave of her hand, “we’re not mad.”</p><p>Crabbe and Goyle looked like they thought it’d be great fun, but Zabini and Malfoy looked nothing more than irritated.</p><p>“I don’t know about this,” I told them. At once Pansy sent me a glare. “You know me, Pans, I’m always up for a bit of mischief. If you wanted to start a rumour, or swap their uniforms, or even a…err—”</p><p>“Colour-Change Jinx?” Blaise supplied helpfully, and I couldn’t help but laugh.</p><p>“Yes, or even that,” I said. “I’d be all for it. But this isn’t cunning. This is…”</p><p>“It does sound like sabotage,” said Daphne, to my relief. “It could land the whole lot of us into detention, Parkinson.”</p><p>Pansy rolled her eyes. “They’re undetectable charms, Greengrass. How would anyone know?”</p><p>“Perhaps they’d simply deduce from the fact that it’s <em>Slytherin</em> versus Hufflepuff?” she pointed out. “What if one of the players got injured? Who would pay for that, do you reckon?”</p><p>“Back me up, Davis,” spluttered Pansy, but even Tracey seemed to have been convinced.</p><p>“I hadn’t really thought of it like that,” she said with a sigh, looking rather disappointed. “If one of those idiots got hurt, detention would be the last thing on our minds. Oh, what a bother. We’ll just have to find a way to mess with them some other time…”</p><p>“And you call yourselves witches?” Pansy snapped. She looked rather embarrassed now, and I did feel bad for her.</p><p>“I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s a good idea, Pansy,” I told her plainly.</p><p>“I agree,” said Daphne, coming to sit by me. “It’s a horrible trick.”</p><p>Before she could retaliate, Draco sat up. “Rosier and Greengrass seem to be the only ones with heads on their shoulders,” he said, and at once Pansy’s mouth snapped shut. “Honestly, how you ever made Prefect is beyond me.”</p><p>That was a devastating blow to her ego, and her lip quivered uncertainly before she rushed out of the boys’ room with a huff. Tracey went after her with a worried backwards glance, and I sent Draco a sharp look.</p><p>“That was harsh, Malfoy,” I told him disapprovingly.</p><p>“It’s sabotage, you said so yourselves,” he said, picking up his new broom. “Our team is good enough to win without <em>cheating. </em>I’m not apologizing for her stupid ideas.”</p><p>“If you girls don’t mind, some of us need to get changed,” Blaise said then, and I realized he was still in his bathrobe. “Although I wouldn’t say no to an audience,” he added flirtatiously. I was almost relieved he was back to his usual self.</p><p>“I’d rather be blind,” said Daphne, and I couldn’t think of anything funny to say, so I simply followed her out the room after wishing the boys good luck for the match.</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>An hour later at the Quidditch pitch the weather was gruellingly cold, and without any Warming Potion on us, Tracey, Daphne and I huddled closely together in the Slytherin stands, trying to shield from the icy drizzle of rain. It was only one of the first matches of the year and so the stakes weren’t necessarily as high as usual, but both Houses had still gone all out with large banners in yellow and black and massive foam snakes that hissed at the opposing team. I had wrapped my scarf tightly around my neck and held onto Tracey and Daphne’s hands. Pansy was still sulking, and refused to sit near us, although we’d given her ample comfort and encouragement. She sat with Millie at the very front.</p><p>“She’ll come round eventually,” shrugged Tracey. “I’ve still got those hexes bookmarked, though.”</p><p>“Tracey,” I warned, and she laughed. It was so cold her breath was like a puff of white smoke.</p><p>“I’m just joking!”</p><p>The teams appeared on the field, small as ants in the distance, and a roar rippled through the crowd. Gryffindor was strictly on Hufflepuff’s side, but Ravenclaw seemed to be split rather evenly, which made me quite pleased. When everyone mounted their brooms and Hooch shrilly blew her whistle, the entire House burst into a deafening cry of “Let’s go, Draco, let’s go!” (Not their best chant, I’ll admit, but it did the trick, and Malfoy looked rather smug as he rose up into the air.)</p><p>Bludgers and Quaffles whizzed past in a blur of snow and rain. I’d never been the biggest fan of Quidditch, I’ll admit, but the atmosphere was surprisingly fun. I’d missed quite a few games over the years, especially recently, and rather regretted it now—and not only because the uniforms were really quite flattering.</p><p>Forty minutes in the score was 110-60 to Slytherin, and the opposing team was amusingly slow to rack up points at first. Throughout the game, my eyes kept darting back to Blaise and the two other Chasers as they sped past. They’d scored quite a few points in quick succession and I was surprised at their swift teamwork—Zabini wasn’t necessarily stubborn, but he usually preferred being independent to working with others, so seeing him pass the Quaffle to another Chaser instead of holding onto it was rather surprising. As the game progressed I began to realize that this was a whole new side of him that I’d been missing out on. I had to admit it was entertaining to watch the players speed past, and despite the biting cold, the cheering of the crowd around me was intoxicating and heated, and I was starting to enjoy myself until—</p><p>With a sickening crack, one of the Hufflepuff team’s Bludgers hit Blaise right in the back and he was knocked off his broom. Stricken by panic, I jumped up, and before I could even think to do anything else I ran down the wooden steps of the stands. The crowd was screaming and booing around me, but it felt like nothing more than the background buzz of an insect; all I could hear was the roaring rush of blood in my ears. I rushed down to the pitch but before I could run out into the field, Madam Hooch had already paused the game and Madam Pomfrey was kneeling at his side.</p><p>“Stand back,” said Hooch when I tried to sneak past. There were quite a few other students gathering behind me already, wanting to catch a glimpse.</p><p>“Professor, I just need to make sure—”</p><p>“No students on the pitch during a game,” she snapped, and I waited anxiously as Blaise was placed onto a floating stretcher and Madam Pomfrey started leading him towards the castle. I rushed to his side. His eyes were closed, which struck fear into my heart, but I didn’t see any blood.</p><p>“Madam Pomfrey,” I started anxiously, “is he alright? Is he—?” I was going to say <em>dead,</em> but deep down I knew that was silly.</p><p>“Oh, dear. He’ll be just fine if you give him some room,” she said impatiently.</p><p>I stood fast. “I’m sorry, Madam Pomfrey, but I really must insist.”</p><p>“Ah, you must be Mr Zabini’s girlfriend, I suppose?” she said sceptically.</p><p>“I—sort of,” I stuttered, and when she didn’t look convinced: “Yes, I am.”</p><p>She huffed, something about the frivolity of young love. “Oh, very well. Come along, then.”</p><p>We walked through the cold towards the Hospital Wing, and I watched anxiously from the bedside as Madam Pomfrey checked Blaise for injuries. She tutted, and muttered, and walked back and forth to gather different potions and salves. He had a nasty bruise on his back by his shoulder, blooming an ugly dark purple across his skin, and I felt sick just looking at it. But Madam Pomfrey carefully applied a thick layer of greenish cream from a mysterious pot and told me not to worry.</p><p>I worried incessantly. Beyond my better judgement, I had taken Blaise’s hand and was gripping it tightly as I gazed at his unconscious figure. He’d never been injured like this—not that I knew of, anyway—and while in the back of my mind I knew that he would be alright if Madam Pomfrey said so, I couldn’t help the nasty swirl of anxiety in my stomach. It must have been my jumpy nerves or perhaps my imagination, but for a moment I was certain he squeezed my hand back.</p><p>“Here, dear,” said Madam Pomfrey suddenly, handing me a cup of tea. “I added a few drops of Warming Potion.”</p><p>“Thank you,” I said, downing the cup in one go. It instantly brought the warmth back to my body. (I suspect she’d put some Calming Draught in there too, because as soon as I took it my nerves subsided considerably.)</p><p>I don’t know how long I sat there, but it was long enough that the sun was beginning to set and several other students—mostly girls from each and every House—came by to check in on Blaise’s condition. I sat silently and did not move from my spot beside him, paying them no mind. Tracey, Daphne, Pansy and Draco came by after the match had ended; from their identical grins I knew instantly Slytherin was victorious. Pansy and Draco seemed to have made up, and his hand was wrapped loosely around her waist. Quickly, I let go of Blaise’s hand.</p><p>“We won!” screamed Tracey, only to earn a harsh shush from Pomfrey.</p><p>“No thanks to him,” said Draco, glancing at the bed, and we laughed. Madam Pomfrey returned to hush us and hurried us out of the room, telling us Blaise would be released when he woke up and that everything would be fine if we left him some air to breathe. She also handed me the mysterious cream, saying it would need to be reapplied twice a day, or as necessary; why she didn’t just give it to Blaise, I’m not sure, but the implication that I would apply it for him made my cheeks burn pink.</p><p>We made our way down to dinner, with promise of a victory party back at the dungeons afterwards. We’d just gotten out the smuggled bottles of Firewhisky and wine when there was a resounding cheer, and I looked up from where I was sitting with Tracey to see that Blaise had entered the portrait hole, still in his Quidditch uniform. He looked absolutely fine—maybe a little sore when the boys patted him too hard—and I let out a sigh of relief. Quickly, swarms of students encircled him and Malfoy, and I chuckled at the sight. Neither of them needed an extra ego boost, but it was funny to see them lap up all the praise.</p><p>Someone had put on a record by The Weird Sisters, and all the lights had been enchanted to glow sharp green, and soon the atmosphere was fun and frantic. Tracey and I took several shots of Firewhisky and chased with pumpkin juice, which was a horrible idea and made a disgusting combination. She tried, unsuccessfully, to drag me to the centre of the room, where the tables and chairs had all been cleared, and I looked on in amusement as she and Daphne danced to<em> She’s Hot (Like Dragon Fire)</em>—admittedly not my favourite song because of how cheesy the lyrics were. I thought back to the Yule Ball with a smile. I suppose <em>Do the Hippogriff </em>was just as cheesy.</p><p>At some point in the night I spotted Blaise and Draco drinking on one of the couches, and snaked through the throng of excited students to join them.</p><p>“Hey, champions,” I greeted them brightly. I was tipsy enough that everything was delightfully amusing.</p><p>“Rosier!” Draco exclaimed; I don’t know how much he’d already had to drink, but he looked happy and loose. “Why aren’t you dancing? Go on, give us a show.” I followed his gaze to where Pansy was dancing in the crowd, glancing back at the couch every so often. I nearly rolled my eyes; I really couldn’t keep up with those two, even if I tried.</p><p>“I’m not near drunk enough,” I said. The thought of Zabini—or anyone, for that matter—watching me dance made me uncomfortably hot.</p><p>“Better drink up, then,” said Blaise, pouring me a goblet of straight rum. I took it and clinked against his bottle, and we downed our drinks at the same time; I pulled a face at the taste, but the smell made me feel light and giddy.</p><p>“Should you be drinking in your condition?” I teased, relieved to have him before me.</p><p>He shrugged. “What Pomfrey doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”</p><p>“It’s not her this is hurting, idiot,” scoffed Malfoy. “Honestly, where’s your sense of self-preservation?” (Ironically, he then took a large swig of strong Elven brandy.)</p><p>“All I need to do is lay off practice for a week or two and I’ll be good as new,” he said, shrugging, already bringing the lip of his bottle up to his mouth.</p><p>“How was the infirmary?” I asked instead, although I’d been there most of the time he had. “When did Madam Pomfrey release you?”</p><p>“She didn’t, exactly,” he admitted, “I just kind of snuck out once her back was turned—and imagine my surprise when I came down here and found out we’d won.”</p><p>“Blaise!” I chided. “If she didn’t—you need to be in bed!”</p><p>But he merely waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t talk to me of that, Rosier. I’ll not deprive myself of a party well-deserved because of a little scratch—”</p><p>I was about to blurt out that the bruise was, in fact, massive, but I bit my tongue just before the words tumbled out.</p><p>“—and it’s nothing serious, not a head injury,” he continued, giving Draco a playful shove. “I’m just annoyed this wanker got all the glory.”</p><p>Draco snorted. “You got all the attention you need for one day, Zabini.”</p><p>“It’s a good thing you were unconscious,” I joked, “or surely the swarm of girls would’ve knocked you out.”</p><p>“No doubt,” said Blaise self-satisfactorily, and I let him pour me another drink. Our fingers brushed.</p><p>“There’s our man!” Daphne, hair undone and cheeks red from dancing, came to join us. Her arm was linked with Tracey’s. “I’m sure you broke the heart of every witch at school today. The Hospital Wing has never been so busy.”</p><p>“Speaking of,” said Blaise then, looking at all of us, “someone explain to me what Madam Pomfrey was saying about my <em>girlfriend?”</em></p><p>Everyone glanced at me before I’d even had a chance to explain myself. I cleared my throat. “Oh—I might’ve had something to do with that,” I admitted sheepishly. “I sort of might have—lied?”</p><p>“Aw, our Rosey was so scared,” teased Tracey, jabbing me lightly in the arm. “She ran straight down to get you.”</p><p>I choked on my drink.</p><p>“Were you worried about me?” said Blaise, eyebrow cocked in a roguish look.</p><p>“Not on your life, Zabini,” I replied haughtily.</p><p>“Ah, there we go.” He grinned, reaching up to touch my chin. “That’s the Rosier I know and love.”</p><p>My heart stopped. He might as well have pulled out his wand and used Confringo to blow up the coffee table because all at once everyone was looking at us with varying degrees of shock. I stared at Blaise’s face, but his charming smile didn’t fade.</p><p>I needed to say something, and now. If I didn’t do it now, I knew I never would.</p><p>I waited until the conversation had moved on, and soon Draco left for Pansy and Tracey and Daphne went right back to dancing. Blaise stayed on the couch, occasionally wincing when someone would pass and clap him on the back or if he accidentally leaned right on the bruise. One group of Fifth Year girls came to offer him a goblet—which he accepted gratefully—and Timothy Morcott sheepishly passed him a small pile of get-well-soon cards. We watched the dancers for a while, sharing the rest of the rum. When I’d finally had enough alcohol to gather up the nerve, I turned to Blaise and leaned in towards his ear to speak over the increasingly louder music.</p><p>“Can I talk to you?”</p><p>However these words made him feel, he didn’t let anything show on his face, and he smoothly nodded his head towards the boys’ dormitory. He took my hand and I let him lead me through the crowd of students to the other end of the Common Room. I quickly slipped inside, hoping nobody had seen us. When I closed the heavy door behind me, the music became a quiet background hum, and I noticed how warm I was. We were alone.</p><p>“So,” he said nonchalantly, leaning against a bedpost.</p><p>“So,” I repeated, suddenly at a loss of words. There was so much space between us. What had I wanted to talk about again? He looked so beautiful tonight.</p><p>“Back in the boys’ dorm already,” he teased lightly, breaking the awkward silence. “Twice in one day.”</p><p>“You just can’t keep me away,” I joked. “I’ll try not to make it a habit.”</p><p>He didn’t laugh, just looked right at me. “You’re always welcome.”</p><p>For some reason, this made me feel uneasy, and I shoved my hands into the pockets of my robes. “Oh, Madam Pomfrey wanted me to give you this,” I said, remembering the pot of cream she’d given me. “Apply twice a day, or as necessary.” I pulled it out to show him. “Do you need any help? Or are you okay to…”</p><p>“Trying to get my shirt off already? You work fast,” he said smoothly, and I stuttered, which made him smile. “All jokes aside, could you? I can’t quite reach my back.”</p><p>I saw the glint in his eye. How cunning of him.</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>I tried not to stare as he carefully peeled off his shirt and sat on his bed. The sight of the bruise still made me feel ill, but it already looked slightly better than before. I hesitantly approached with the cream, unscrewing the lid. It had a thick, medicinal scent, and I scrunched my nose as I took a seat beside him on the bedspread. The mattress creaked ever so slightly.</p><p>“I’m sorry if this hurts,” I said quietly, dipping a finger into the cream. I was almost too nervous to touch his skin; I’d never seen Blaise with his shirt off before and my heart was racing. I tried to focus, but in my drunken state my eyes kept wandering to the nape of his neck, or to his smooth, broad shoulders, or the hard lines of his arms. We were sat so close together. I was extremely aware of the fact that I was on his bed, where he slept every night; it smelled overwhelmingly of <em>him.</em></p><p>For a split second I wasn’t proud of I imagined what else we could be doing on that bed under different circumstances. Intense heat coursed through me at the thought.</p><p>“Is it that bad?” said Blaise lightly, when I still hadn’t touched him.</p><p>“Oh, no, I was just…” Tentatively, I touched my fingers to his skin. He was searing hot. I smeared the green stuff onto the bruise, trying to be as light and gentle as possible. He sucked a breath in through his teeth. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, retracting my hand immediately.</p><p>Blaise looked over his shoulder at me. He was flushed. For once his suave exterior relaxed; I had never seen him so completely vulnerable. “No, no, it’s—alright.”</p><p>I carefully applied the rest of the cream, fearful of touching too hard, fearful of hurting him in any way. My heart was beating so loudly in my chest and throat and ears that I was certain he could hear it. Time moved thickly; I was well aware we were still drunk.</p><p>“At the infirmary,” Blaise started conversationally, “why did you lie?”</p><p>“Well, Madam Pomfrey wouldn’t let me go with you,” I stumbled, “and then she asked if I was—well, you know—so I just said yes. I didn’t really think about it.”</p><p>He was nodding. “She said you were sweet,” he added. “Holding my hand and everything.”</p><p>My blush deepened and I struggled to find something sly to say, but nothing came to mind. “I was checking you weren’t dead, that’s all,” I mumbled.</p><p>He let out a chuckle and fell quiet.</p><p>“There,” I said finally, screwing the lid back on. I leaned forwards to place it on his nightstand, next to his golden necklace and a picture of him and his mother.</p><p>“So what did you want to talk to me a—”</p><p>“This the first time you’ve had Rosier bent over your bed, Zabini?”</p><p>I shot back up, quickly smoothing my skirt down from where it had ridden up over my thighs. Nott had entered the dormitory, scowling, a goblet in his hand.</p><p>“Save it, Nott,” said Blaise, his face hard. “She was just helping me.”</p><p>“I can see that,” he sneered.</p><p>Blaise stood up, and I quickly glanced away from his naked torso. “Go back to the party, Theodore,” he said evenly, and even I was intimidated by his sudden shift in tone.</p><p>“Or what, Zabini?”</p><p>“You’re embarrassing yourself.”</p><p>“Blaise, he isn’t worth it,” I mumbled. My face was burning.</p><p>He glanced at me. “Well, hey, don’t let me interrupt you two! Go on, keep going, I promise I won’t look.”</p><p>“We weren’t doing anything—”</p><p>“Of course not,” he said, giving me a look of such deep disgust that I was genuinely surprised. “You can fraternize with half-bloods all you want, Rosier, but what’ll mummy and daddy think of you?”</p><p>That struck a nerve, probably more than he would ever know.</p><p>“I should go,” I said, ducking my head and walking straight for the door. My face burned. Blaise called my name, but I was too angry to turn back.</p><p>I wandered about the party for another half hour, but my throat felt tight and my head swam, so I decided to retreat for the night. My only salvation was the girls’ dormitory, where I sat on the foot of my bed, trying to sober up. All that effort and I hadn’t even gotten to speak to him properly—and now Nott had even more ammunition against me.</p><p>The music playing in the Common Room was almost mocking me, and I sat staring at my reflection, enraged and embarrassed. I could still smell the thick cream on my fingers.</p><p>Later that night, when I tried to sleep, all I could think of was the sickening crack when the Bludger hit Blaise’s back, and the sight of his unconscious figure in the Hospital Wing. I wished to see him. I was resolutely trying not to picture him shirtless, or in his bed, but my mind wandered.</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>Zabini never ended up going back to the Hospital Wing, although he did take a few days off Quidditch practice. One night later that week I noticed that he’d been missing at dinner, and he stormed into the Common Room long after in his formal dress robes. Draco and I were playing a game of Wizard’s Chess by the window, and I watched as he ripped open his tight collar and draped himself rather dramatically over the chaise longue, hissing as he leaned too hard on his back. I rarely saw him lose his temper—except, of course, when I had jinxed his hair orange—and he seemed uncharacteristically upset.</p><p>“Everything alright, Blaise?” Draco asked, not looking up from the chessboard. “How was the Slug Club?”</p><p>“Horrible,” he moaned. “Potter and the Weasley girl could hardly keep their hands off each other again, and those Carrows were acting so unsociably I might as well have been the only Slytherin there. Slughorn is a tremendous bore,” he added.</p><p>“Oh, the woes of being a prized pupil,” I lamented playfully, and it nearly felt like we were all simply friends again. “Knight to E5.”</p><p>“Even worse,” he started to say, “I have to go to his Christmas party. <em>Mandatory.</em> A mandatory party? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”</p><p>Draco and I shared an amused look, and let him stew in his anger.</p><p>“Surprised you didn’t get admitted to that little club, cousin,” Draco remarked suddenly, after he had won the match. The pieces instantly reformed and returned themselves to their starting positions.</p><p>“I could say the same of you.”</p><p>“And that’s another thing,” Blaise piped up from the chaise, “he pretends he’s so particular about his little club members, but that doesn’t explain you two.”</p><p>“I have no interest in that waste of time,” Malfoy drawled, commanding a pawn. “Your turn.”</p><p>“Rosier should’ve been chosen, at least,” Blaise continued, “you’re cleverer than half the dimwits in there.”</p><p>“You’re forgetting where my uncle is,” I reminded him, trying to keep my tone light, but a momentary chill ran through the room.</p><p>After I had lost two more times, I grew tired of playing and let Malfoy gloat in his victory. The Common Room gradually cleared out as it got later and later, and soon we three were the only ones left. Zabini had not moved from the chaise longue, and currently seemed to be wishing death upon the ceiling.</p><p>“Think of it like this,” I tried, leaning against the armrest of the chaise, “you get to go to an exclusive party on your own merit, and have a chance to dress up. Where, perhaps, you’ll meet several influential people. And if not,” I said as he started to protest, “then at least there will likely be drinks there, and that’ll keep you entertained until you can rush back to safety.”</p><p>“I can drink here, with you,” he retorted, and I thought back to our victory party earlier that week. “I don’t see why I have to go.”</p><p>“Use Polyjuice and bribe some Second Year to do it for you,” Malfoy suggested.</p><p>To my disbelief he actually seemed to consider this for a moment, but then his face fell. “No, that’ll take a whole month to brew. There’s not enough time.” Suddenly his nose wrinkled as if he had just smelled something putrid. “Oh, Merlin, and I have to bring a date.”</p><p>“Use your feminine wiles,” Draco said, which I assume was a joke. But Blaise seemed genuinely distressed by the idea of having to find a partner, and sat nervously biting his lip. Malfoy let out a snort. “Come on, Blaise, you can’t seriously be telling me <em>you’re</em> worried about finding a date?”</p><p>I felt uncomfortable sitting there listening to a conversation I really shouldn’t have been involved with. I had no interest in hearing about Blaise picking a potential partner. We might have had a fun little back-and-forth to keep each other on our toes, and even tearfully confessed our past affections for one another, but at the end of the day the strange incomprehensible mess of feelings between us did not seem salvageable.</p><p>I realized now, with a growing sense of dread, that I had allowed him to play me all over again, by no fault but my own. At first I thought I was just getting back at him for teasing me, when really I’d let myself be consumed by him. I’d just undone years’ worth of heartache in a matter of months, and for what? So Blaise could make a fool of himself running after me? I’d been the one deliberating my every move like an idiot, wanting to hold his attention so I may dangle it in front of myself for my own amusement. We had used each other for a pointless game that was only ever going to end up hurting the both of us.</p><p>Now where were we? Tiptoeing around each other, occasionally making leaps of faith in the heat of the moment, ultimately not friends nor anything more. And yet, my feelings for him were as strong as ever, and there was nothing I could do about it now. After the Amortentia and the Quidditch match, I could no longer hide that I cared for him, and it would be silly to try. There was no way he didn’t know.</p><p>I thought of him crying into my hair in the dungeon corridor and bit my lip.</p><p>“—hey? Are you there?”</p><p>I snapped back down to earth and blinked, still momentarily lost in thought. “Yes?”</p><p>They looked bemused.</p><p>“Sorry, I was just—thinking,” I said vaguely. “What did you say, Blaise?”</p><p>“I’m not staying for this,” said Malfoy at once, pulling a face, and deliberately clapped Blaise on the back (right on his bruise) before he left for the boys’ dormitory. “Good luck with that!”</p><p>We were alone again. For a moment, we simply looked at one another, and I wondered whether he or I should say something first. He seemed so reluctant to answer my question that I was nearly tempted to change the subject altogether.</p><p>“It’s nothing,” he said finally, turning towards the fire.</p><p>“No, please,” I urged him awkwardly, resting my hand on his arm, “I was being rude. What is it?”</p><p>He didn’t answer. After a moment, he reached up, and with a hesitant twitch of the hand he touched his knuckles to my cheek. Warmth spread from my heart to my throat and down to the pit of my stomach. He had a beautiful, mystified look in his eyes.</p><p>I melted.</p><p>“Maybe I could go with you,” I said before I could even think to stop myself, “if you wanted, if you…”</p><p>Immediately, I wanted to kick myself for waltzing right into a rejection—but I just couldn’t help it, not with Blaise right in front of me looking as beautiful as he had that night in the snow. Strangely, for just that one second, it felt to me like nothing had changed, and that these two very different moments in time nearly two years apart were actually one and the same.</p><p>“Yes,” he said softly, “yes, do.”</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>fuck theodore nott all my homies HATE theodore nott</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. part V</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>the green and the black</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>part V</strong>
</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>In the week leading up to Slughorn’s party, my mood had changed considerably. It would be Christmas soon, and to me the world seemed lighter, brighter, less serious. I loved Christmas: the festive music, the food, the fresh pine smell of the trees, the crunch of snow under my shoes. I delighted in everything, especially the romantic—and with how much time alone Tracey and Daphne were suddenly spending together since the Quidditch match, it was really no surprise when, as we got dressed for class, Daphne leaned down for a quick, sweet kiss. I watched them with unconcealed joy.</p><p>“It only just happened; we were going to tell you after…” Daphne was saying, and I jumped up to envelop her in a tight hug. She pushed me off of her, telling me disapprovingly to button up my shirt.</p><p>“Davis, you <em>dog,”</em> I gasped, reaching out to tousle her hair. “I can finally stop trying to find you a lover.”</p><p>“Worry about yourself,” Tracey retorted, jabbing me lightly in the arm. We three linked arms to walk up to the Great Hall, and I somehow seemed to be more excited than either of them: every time I flashed a bright, toothy grin, they looked away in embarrassment.</p><p>“Oh, stop smiling so much,” said Tracey over breakfast, “you’re giving me a headache.”</p><p>“I simply can’t,” I beamed. “I’m too happy for you.”</p><p>She gave me a soft, tender look and swiped lightly at my chin before returning to her new issue of <em>Witch Weekly.</em></p><p>Daphne was serenely eating her porridge. “Eat your breakfast,” she advised us. “We have class in a minute.”</p><p>“Not for another half hour,” I pointed out, and she let out a noise of exasperation, but the corners of her mouth were upturned.</p><p>“Not that it really matters, it’s the last day,” said Tracey. “All we’ll do is get assigned heaps and heaps of homework to do over the holidays—oh, I don’t even want to think about it.” She huffed and buried her nose in <em>Witch Weekly.</em></p><p>Shortly after, Blaise arrived with Draco and Pansy to join us, as they normally did for meals nowadays. It was so different to Fifth Year, when the girls and boys had mostly ignored one another completely. There was a surprising sense of normalcy between all of us: Pansy and Draco were on-again and had been ever since the victory party (I think); Tracey and Daphne were openly holding hands; Blaise and I, while nowhere near official, had been rather sweet lately.</p><p>After I’d gotten over the embarrassment of Nott barging in on us, and the dreadfully humiliating fact that I’d not only lied about being his girlfriend to a member of staff but invited myself as his plus-one for the Slug party, I found that things were actually quite good between us. (And, thankfully, his bruise had healed rather quickly without complications; Madam Pomfrey was a miracle worker.) I was starting to feel comfortable with the knowledge that we were, at least, decidedly friends, and a little bit less and a little bit more. He had started sitting closer to me than usual.</p><p>“Here,” said Blaise, sliding me a cup of coffee he’d poured.</p><p>I took it with pleasant surprise. “How domestic of you, Zabini,” I commented.</p><p><em>“Oh,”</em> groaned Draco with a roll of his eyes, “so that’s why you like coffee so much. Merlin, Blaise, if I knew you were such a sad romantic, I never would’ve put up with you for this long.”</p><p>I think he was referring to the Amortentia. I flushed happily and wrapped my hands around the steaming cup to warm them.</p><p>“Are you kidding, Malfoy?” snorted Tracey. “He’s only shagged nearly half the school.”</p><p>“That doesn’t make him a romantic,” said Pansy. “It just makes him a slag.”</p><p>“All high praise. Thank you, ladies,” he said, looking completely unbothered by their remarks. I drank my coffee without comment.</p><p>“The truth hurts, Zabini,” said Draco with a cruel smile.</p><p>“That’s all very rich coming from you, Malfoy,” said Blaise. “What’d you smell again? Broom Wax and cheap aftershave?”</p><p>I tried to think of who could possibly smell like that—it certainly wasn’t Parkinson, who loved her Witches’ Brew brand perfume and would never go anywhere near a broom—but the only person who really came to mind was Potter, and that couldn’t possibly be right.</p><p>“You think you’re so funny, don’t you?” seethed Malfoy, though there was perhaps the slightest hint of colour in his pale cheeks. I wondered if Pansy knew.</p><p>“Calm down, boys,” I chided. “We’re all friends here.”</p><p>“Is this about that Amortentia?” asked Daphne, who didn’t take Potions—she’d picked History of Magic instead, which I couldn’t fathom doing voluntarily. I would’ve given my left leg to avoid having Binns for another year. “What did it smell like to you?”</p><p>“Oh, um.” I felt my ears burn. “Nothing of note, really.”</p><p>Tracey bit her lip, trying to remember. “Rum, wasn’t it? And Christmas?”</p><p>“And sandalwood,” added Blaise with a look of self-satisfaction. He was wearing his cologne as usual and seemed rather pleased with himself.</p><p>“Alright, Mr ‘Clean Bedsheets and Something Floral, I Think’,” I retorted. I was usually the one doing the teasing, not the one being teased.</p><p>“Roses, I believe it was,” commented Tracey with a raise of her brow, “remarkably like a certain girl I know. Oh, who could it be? Was it Bulstrode?”</p><p>We laughed. It felt a bit surreal to joke about this so openly. It was one of the things I’d been meaning to talk to Zabini about for a while, but it simply never came up, and doing it now was both a relief and rather mortifying. The revelation that everybody was highly aware of us was bizarre. I felt oddly calm, and stared contentedly up at the enchanted ceiling to watch the snowflakes flutter above our heads, never to reach the ground.</p><p>When it was time for our first lesson I reached for my bookbag, but Zabini beat me to it, throwing the strap casually over his shoulder.</p><p>“What are you doing?” I said with a laugh.</p><p>“Carrying your books to class,” he replied coolly. “But Merlin, they’re a bit heavy, what’ve you got in here?”</p><p>“But you don’t take Herbology,” I pointed out.</p><p>“Suppose not,” he agreed, slinging an arm over my shoulder. “Let’s go.”</p><p>I felt like I was walking in a dream with his warm arm wrapped around me, a gesture I’d often envied in other girls. Everything was bright and airy, and by the time we reached the greenhouses I felt like my feet were floating several inches above the floor. I kept glancing up at Blaise with the sneaking suspicion that I was in a dream.</p><p>He gave me a charming smile and walked unhurriedly back to the castle, snowflakes on his shoulders, and for the rest of the day I moved in a daze. At lunch, I brushed my fingers over his more than once. In Defence Against the Dark Arts he moved to sit beside me at the front. That evening in the Common Room we sat close to each other in front of the fire, our shoulders nearly touching.</p><p>I looked at him openly, no longer feeling the oppressive need to hide, and studied his face in the firelight. Finally, finally, stargazing at his high cheekbones or downcast eyes or the taught, deep lines of his neck as he relaxed against the back of the couch didn’t feel forbidden.</p><p>We exchanged early Christmas presents that evening. Draco and Blaise had unsurprisingly racked up quite an impressive number of gifts and cards and tokens from admirers in the entire House. Draco gave us all nothing but cards, as he did every year, formal and impersonal. Blaise maintained that allowing us to see him every day was generous enough.</p><p>The girls had pooled together to buy Pansy the perfume she so loved, but which cost an arm and a leg for one little bottle. I’d gotten Millie a scarf, although she got me nothing and didn’t sit with us, deciding instead to busy herself with packing her trunk.</p><p>I unwrapped Tracey and Daphne’s gift to me, a rather weighty, rectangular package wrapped in bright gold paper.</p><p>“Do you like it?” asked Tracey eagerly. I held the precious first edition volume of <em>Enchanted Encounters</em> by Fifi LaFolle to my chest, careful of the frayed binding.</p><p>“I adore it,” I gasped, reaching over to kiss both of them on the cheek. “I don’t even want to know how much this cost.”</p><p>“Oh, hush. What is money but little bits of metal?” said Tracey.</p><p>“The money isn’t important. It’s Christmas,” said Daphne, who seemed anxious that I should like it.</p><p>“Not that it really matters, of course,” Tracey added, “it’s silly we should even celebrate such a Muggle holiday—but, well, it’s the thought that counts.”</p><p>I smiled. Typical Davis. She was wearing the earrings I’d given her (although she’d made a passing comment they were something her grandmother would wear) and the bright white pearls contrasted wonderfully to her dark complexion. Daphne was pleased with her silver clip, encrusted with rose quartz and crystal, and let Tracey place it in her hair. I watched them interact. They made a lovely couple.</p><p>We played a few games of Exploding Snap, with warm Butterbeer and a silver platter of chocolates and ginger biscuits and mince pies from the enormous package Pansy had gotten from her family.</p><p>“Every year I ask for jewellery, or something useful,” she muttered as she ripped open the box, “and every year it’s <em>this…”</em></p><p>I’d gone back and forth on whether or not to get Blaise a gift. In the end, I’d settled on a card and a box of liquor-filled bonbons. He shared them with me while we played games. I wasn’t hurt that he hadn’t gotten me anything—it was a tricky business, buying presents for someone when you weren’t even sure whether you were truly friends or not.</p><p>“Sweet dreams, Rosier,” he told me later that night, leaving a lingering kiss on my hand.</p><p>My heart would not slow down as I danced across the dormitory and changed into my nightdress, humming some sappy Celestina holiday song to myself. I had just taken my hair down when I noticed a slip of paper resting innocently on my bed, right on my pillow. With sudden suspicion, I peered down at it. It was thick, cream card, and written in elegant script was:</p><p>
  <em>Rosier—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Don’t worry, it’s really from me this time</em>
</p><p>It was signed with nothing but a capital B.</p><p>I curiously picked up the little card and found, underneath it, a dainty chain attached to a rose pendant, with delicate petals fashioned out of gold. I held it carefully and stared at the precious little flower in my palm. Zabini was nothing if not smooth, I will grant him that.</p><p>“Ooh, what’s this?” said Tracey, swiping at the necklace. She let out an impressed whistle. “Oh, no. I don’t know how we’ll get back at him for this, honestly. He might have got you beat. What’d you get him?<em> Bonbons?”</em></p><p>“A rose, though?” Daphne tutted. “I mean, it’s a bit obvious, isn’t it? He could have made more of an effort.”</p><p>“I’m just glad it’s not spiders,” I said, and Trace cackled. I excitedly slipped it around my neck, feeling the cool weight of the rose against my collarbone. It matched my signet ring, I noticed with satisfaction.</p><p>While the girls packed their clothes and books into their trunks for the holidays, I slipped back into the Common Room, where Blaise and Draco were playing a game of Wizard’s Chess. I came up behind him and wrapped my arms around his neck, and pressed a fleeting kiss on his cheek. “Thank you.”</p><p>“Well, hello,” laughed Blaise, turning to look at me. There was an endearing look of surprise upon his features. “I’m willing to guess you like it, then?”</p><p>“Far better than a stupid old heart,” I confirmed. My cheek was nearly pressed to his and I could feel the warmth radiating off of his skin.</p><p>“Get a room,” said Draco rather sharply. “Blaise, it’s your turn.”</p><p>“Let me see,” said Blaise to me, ignoring the commentary. He turned around in his chair so he could see the little charm, framed by the pale lace of my nightdress. “You look lovely. Though of course you’d look far lovelier with<em> just </em>the necklace on—”</p><p>“Do you want me to leave?” said Draco irritably. I laughed at my cousin; on more than one occasion had he and Pansy gotten up to much more in front of us, but I wasn’t going to bring that up. I tried not to pay too much attention to Blaise’s words—he’d always had a flirtatious streak, but this was a bit too much for my heart to bear.</p><p>I couldn’t sleep that night; I was far too excited.</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>The twentieth of December arrived quickly, and I passed each day in a warm, happy haze. Classes had been dismissed for the holidays and I had little to no homework left to do, which helped my mood considerably. I fiddled with the rose pendant most of the day: on walks, while playing games of chess and cards, during meals, in bed at night. I waited anxiously all day until I could finally start getting ready for the party. Tracey fixed embellished gold ornaments and clasps in my hair. Gold and pearl fell from my ears. I settled on formal dress robes, for unfortunately I had nothing festive: a pale silk dress, with mother-of-pearl accents on the neck and sleeves. It was Daphne’s and felt soft and lovely—not at all what I usually donned for formal affairs, in the sharp, dark manner my parents preferred.</p><p>I put on plenty of perfume.</p><p>The golden rose settled perfectly just above the neckline, and I admired my reflection in the vanity with glee bubbling giddily in my chest. This giddiness turned into bashfulness as soon as I entered the Common Room, feeling a bit unsteady in heeled shoes.</p><p>“Grace and decorum,” Daphne had reminded me, but I felt so nervous I could barely take another step.</p><p>Most people had already gone home, and few students remained in the Slytherin Common Room. Malfoy and Parkinson had left earlier that day, as had Nott, thankfully. It was eerily quiet. While I sat waiting for Zabini to appear (of course he took longer than me to get ready; I nearly laughed) I twirled my signet ring around and around my finger. And then, with a rush of blood to the heart, he was before me in striking black dress robes, his curls styled, his face set in a smug look that was devilishly handsome nonetheless. He looked much older than usual somehow. I was starstruck.</p><p>I flushed as he looked me up and down hellishly slow.</p><p>“Like a princess,” he said, taking my arm. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”</p><p>“Poor Slug,” I lamented playfully. “He does his best.”</p><p>“I suppose,” said Blaise, though he didn’t sound convinced. “Just wait until he speaks to you; you’ll see why the Slug Club is not at <em>all</em> what it’s cut out to be.”</p><p>I laughed at that. It couldn’t be that bad.</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>“So your uncle is still in Azkaban, I understand, Miss Rosier?”</p><p>I looked at Professor Slughorn with barely contained shock. “Oh,” I said shortly, losing the graceful composure I’d tried to maintain all evening. “Err…”</p><p>“Forgive my asking,” he said, though his happy manner and cheerful disposition were far from apologetic. He lowered his voice rather secretively as he added, “I understand he was…well, that he was quite an avid follower of You-Know-Who’s…cause.”</p><p>“He was a Death Eater, yes,” I confirmed uneasily, “but I’ve never met him, sir. It all happened before I was born. My parents openly condemn his past actions; you understand, professor.”</p><p>I thought of something to say that would release his interest while he continued to ask me several questions about the goings-on of prison life and Dementors, and I had to remind him I had never been there.</p><p>“Oh, yes, quite, quite,” he was saying, although he sounded terribly disappointed. I then hastily excused myself from the Potions Master, who moved on to converse with the vampire looming in the corner. (Well, it wasn’t like I was expecting an invitation to the Slug Club anytime soon, anyway.) It was definitely an odd arrangement of people Slughorn had ‘collected’—all really quite remarkable in their own way, although Blaise didn’t seem very impressed by anyone—and I was actually rather enjoying myself up until the moment Slughorn decided to interrogate me on my family history. The comment about my uncle was enough to dampen the mood considerably.</p><p>Blaise was stuck in a long, one-sided conversation with an elderly woman who I believe had mentioned she was a Magizoologist, and behind him Granger was seemingly avoiding her date by ducking behind the curtains. (McLaggen, I think his name was—I can’t imagine what possessed her to ask him, since he was really rather vile.) The Carrow twins—I cannot for the life of me recall their forenames—were only talking to one another, regarding the rest of the room with a certain distrust. Unsurprisingly, Potter was unwillingly attracting the attention of almost every party guest, who were no doubt just itching to meet the famous Boy Who Lived, and it was rather funny to see him try and avoid being roped into any sort of conversation.</p><p>Although the room had certainly been beautifully transformed, with festive banners of bright green and crimson and gold hanging from the ceiling, there were telling reminders we were still in the dungeons: the dark, harsh brick of the fireplace and the low-hanging ceilings. I thought it was rather ingenious that the walls had been covered with all those banners, giving the illusion we were in a large garden-tent. I had made a few turns about the room already, having short, albeit memorable conversations with several of the bizarre cast of characters that had gathered for the party. Before Professor Slughorn asked me all about Azkaban, Luna Lovegood had surreptitiously slid me a copy of <em>The Quibbler </em>and advised me strongly to consider investing in a pair of Spectrespecs. That nearly made me laugh out loud, but I accepted the magazine quite seriously and told her I’d consider buying a pair.</p><p>“You’re very elegant,” she said then, with her usual look of perpetual surprise. “You aren’t a statue, are you?”</p><p>“Oh,” I said, at a loss for words. “I don’t believe so. Why?”</p><p>“Well, there are quite a few statues that have been going missing all over—they’ve been coming to life and just walking off, you see—you can read all about it in <em>The Quibbler</em>…”</p><p>I was rather amused by all these interactions. Blaise, on the other hand, seemed to have been consistently engaged in tedious conversations against his will from the moment we’d entered the room, and while I would have liked to stay at his side, he kept getting whisked away by enchanted older witches. I wasn’t upset; I completely understood the effect he appeared to have on them. If nothing else, it was very amusing.</p><p>I smiled as he sent me a pleading look from across the room, and unhurriedly went to rescue him.</p><p>“Excuse me,” I cut in, interrupting the old witch’s ranting monologue on the eating habits of European mountain trolls, “I’m afraid I must steal Mr Zabini away for a moment; it’s an emergency.”</p><p>“Oh my!” exclaimed the woman, and without further explanation I gave her a polite smile and pulled Blaise to the other end of the room.</p><p>“Merlin, what a slog,” he was saying, brow twitching irritably. It was terribly funny to see him so on edge. “I thought you said there’d be drinks here.”</p><p>I eyed the passing platters of clinking glasses, with sherry and mead, although that was unfortunately reserved strictly for the adults in the room. “There’s always eggnog,” I suggested. “That’s alcoholic. Technically.”</p><p>“I’m having a drink when we get back,” he sighed, running a hand through his curls. “How long until we can leave?”</p><p><em>“Blaise,”</em> I chided, “the night’s barely begun.”</p><p>“We’ve been here for <em>two hours.”</em></p><p>“And it’s been incredibly entertaining. The older ladies simply love you.” I laughed at his expense. “But you’re really quite bad at pretending to be listening, you know.”</p><p>“Did Slughorn give you any trouble earlier?” he asked then, to change the subject.</p><p>“Oh, the usual. Talk of Death Eaters and Azkaban. All very bright and festive,” I said lightly, but he looked genuinely apologetic. To cheer ourselves up we snuck a glass of mead and shared it behind a large velvet curtain and, when the supply of hors d’oeuvres had been depleted, finally bid Professor Slughorn goodnight. I was rather surprised to find we were among the last guests to leave; Potter, Granger, Weasley and half the other Slug Club members had already managed to escape before us.</p><p>“A pleasure seeing you,” said the old Potions Master, shaking his handkerchief in farewell and looking to be a few too many sherries in. “Merry Christmas, you two! Dashing couple, just lovely…”</p><p>“And to you, professor,” I said cheerily. We walked through the cold stone corridors, and all of a sudden a single silk dress was incredibly impractical attire for the frosty December night. We exchanged our accounts of the night—his was far more interesting than mine, but I seemed to have enjoyed it infinitely more.</p><p>“You spoke to the vampire <em>and</em> the bagpipe player from The Weird Sisters?” I cried. “I didn’t even know they were there! How does Slughorn know all these people?”</p><p>“If nothing else, he certainly has connections,” he admitted, and stopped walking suddenly. I glanced back at him over my shoulder, and saw that he was looking up at the archway we’d passed, where a mischievous little sprig of leaves and berries was perched. I blinked in surprise; I rarely saw mistletoe at Hogwarts. I suppose it was a special Christmas, after all.</p><p>I looked at Blaise, who wore an amused expression—as if to say, <em>well, isn’t this typical?</em></p><p>I lifted my fingers up to his chin, and all I could think was that I would only ever stand in terror before a thing of beauty like him. Somehow I plucked up the courage to bring his face down to mine and gently press my mouth to his, for the first time in two years.</p><p>My pulse thundered. He felt warm and soft.</p><p>When I pulled away, he had a certain appealing dark look in his eyes that seduced me instantly.</p><p>“I might need to start carrying mistletoe around,” he said, his voice husky.</p><p>“Just to keep the tradition alive,” I agreed. He then swooped down to kiss me again, fiercely. Both his hands rose up to hold the back of my head, threading his fingers tightly through my hair. My eyes fluttered shut. His tongue tasted like sweet, sour mead.</p><p>Suddenly his hands had snaked down to my waist, then my lower back. I stumbled blindly backwards until I was pressed against the icy cold stone, and convulsed into him while he fumbled for something beside me. The sound of a doorknob, a door creaking open. We slipped inside, clicking the lock securely shut.</p><p>It was an empty classroom. I barely had a moment to catch my breath before he was on me, mouth hot against my neck, and I felt like I was underwater; every movement flowed and swayed romantically, everything weightier and warmer than usual.</p><p>Matters progressed. He’d lifted me up onto the desk at the front of the class, my legs against cold wood, and was standing in-between my thighs. I kept my palms pressed firmly on his chest, feeling his erratic heartbeat as a wonderful, necessary reminder. One hand was buried in my hair, while the other rested on my leg, smoothing a thumb over the cool silk.</p><p>Kissing Blaise made me realize just how much I’d been missing before. I was transfixed on every tiny detail: the smell of his hair, the feel of his breath. He looked dreamlike in the dark.</p><p>My pulse was in my throat. My heart was in his hands.</p><p>I didn’t want to, but I couldn’t help it—I imagined him with someone else, sneaking off on nights just like these—the feeling of mutual desire—perhaps in this hallway, perhaps in this very classroom. His hands in their hair, his mouth on their skin. They would feel just as special as I did in this very moment, and long, long before I did. Dozens of people had been lucky enough to experience Blaise before me. Somehow that fact felt painfully unjust.</p><p>When he kissed down my collar, I suddenly had a burning question at the edge of my tongue that I urgently needed answered.</p><p>“Blaise?”</p><p>“Hm?” he breathed against my skin. His eyelashes were long and thick as he looked up. He looked slightly dazed.</p><p>“Why did you start talking to me?” I asked, voice breathy.</p><p>“I’d say we’re doing a lot more than talking right now,” he quipped, sliding a finger underneath the strap of my dress.</p><p>“This year, I mean,” I clarified. I felt dizzy looking at him. “We were very clearly not friends anymore.”</p><p>He seemed only mildly surprised by the question and its inconvenient timing. “I couldn’t say,” he said finally. “I just couldn’t stay away from you.”</p><p>I couldn’t tell if he was joking. It frightened me how badly I wanted to believe him. “You’re quite the flirt,” I remarked lightly.</p><p>“I could say the same of you, Rosier,” he said. “I never thought you would’ve been one to toy with me, but I have to say I enjoyed watching you.”</p><p>I flushed. “It was rather fun, actually.”</p><p>“Mm. You were a formidable opponent.”</p><p>The deep, smoky tone of his voice brought a shiver to my spine. “Oh yeah?” I prompted, just so he would keep talking.</p><p>“Oh yeah,” he repeated, unexpectedly pressing his lips to my clavicle. “Did I <em>entice</em> you, in the end?”</p><p>I bit back a moan. “It would seem that way.”</p><p>“Finally,” he chuckled, and it sounded like a sigh. “Only took me six years.”</p><p>“Never had to go through this much trouble for a girl before, Zabini?”</p><p><em>“No,” </em>he said emphatically. “No, definitely not. You were far too difficult, Rosier. I ran out of tricks pretty quickly.”</p><p>“Ah,” I said, “is that where those pranks came from?”</p><p>“Don’t remind me,” he moaned. “Those stupid spiders were Malfoy’s idea. I didn’t know—”</p><p>“It’s alright.” I let out a laugh, feeling my face heat up at the memory. “Oh, I can’t believe I <em>cried.”</em></p><p>He cupped my jaw gently, stroking his thumb over my cheek. His eyes were impossibly dark. “I’m so sorry, baby,” he said. “I’ll never do anything like that again.”</p><p>At the sound of this word a roaring heat boiled in my stomach and warmed me from the inside-out. “I like it when you call me that,” I breathed, barely above a whisper.</p><p>His lips curled into a wicked grin. “Oh yeah?”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>He was kissing my fingers now, one by one. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said again. “I just wanted your attention.”</p><p>He looked oddly embarrassed to admit it—cool, suave, shameless Blaise Zabini, <em>embarrassed. </em>I greatly enjoyed this power; I could tease him, I could reel him in. I could torture him. And yet the look on his face made me want to be nothing less than completely honest.</p><p>“You always had it,” I told him. Perhaps it was the dark, or the surreal atmosphere of the night, but it was so tempting to suddenly be nothing but open and truthful. Everything, everything I had ever held in wanted to spill out. It frightened me. He seemed to have had an even stronger effect on me than I ever wanted to admit.</p><p>“And all it took was a Bludger to the back,” he joked. I laughed.</p><p>He stared at me then, lingering on my lips. I was suddenly self-conscious.</p><p>“What are you looking at, Zabini?” I said a bit too nervously, trying not to tense up.</p><p>“You’re just—” Blaise stopped and sighed, taking a step back from me, palms against the desktop. “You are irresistible, Rosier.”</p><p>That specific word made my blood run cold for a second. “Oh, Merlin—it’s not me, it’s the lipstick—”</p><p>He had a mystified look on his face. “What? What lipstick?”</p><p>“Oh—err—I may have enchanted a lipstick,” I admitted awkwardly, realizing how stupid this sounded. “Back in October.”</p><p>That made him laugh. “Don’t tell me that was when we all went to the Three Broomsticks,” he said, though I believe he must have already known the answer. I nodded sheepishly. “Oh, you witches. I should’ve known something wicked was going on.”</p><p>“Had you guessed?”</p><p>“Well, I was finding it very difficult,” he said, leaning down towards me, “for me to keep my hands off you.”</p><p>A blush spread through my whole body. I peered up at his face, unfairly perfect even from this angle. The alluring look in his dark eyes, the charming smile on his lips, the glint of gold on his ear. My breath hitched when he reached forward and touched a single lock of hair between his fingers, tenderly twirling it around with his thumb. I wanted him to grab the back of my head and yank.</p><p>“Don’t worry, Rosier,” he told me. “You were irresistible to me long before then. You’ve never stopped.”</p><p>I could make no sound but a soft, amazed little <em>Oh.</em></p><p>Slowly, he brought my hair to his lips. I nearly laughed. No wonder he had every witch he met wrapped around his finger. He was far too good at this.</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>That night I carefully slipped off Daphne’s dress and hung it from her canopy while I got myself undone and ready for bed. I surveyed my reflection in the vanity as I untangled my hair, taking the gold pieces out one by one. The skin of my cheeks seemed permanently flushed, and there were small, red marks dotting my neck and chest. I nearly cursed Zabini’s name.</p><p>After our little tryst in the classroom, we’d silently slipped back into the Common Room, parting ways quite amiably. We said nothing further of what had happened between us, much to my relief; if we did I feared I might implode. I felt light and exhausted from the thrill of the night. My pulse was tired of racing.</p><p>I slipped my ring and earrings into my jewellery box, but left the rose pendant around my neck; it felt too sentimental to take off just yet. I was just unlacing my garters and carefully slipping my sheer stockings off when the door opened. I didn’t look up; Daphne and Tracey were still here and wouldn’t leave until tomorrow. I prepared myself to be bombarded by Davis’ questions.</p><p>I froze when, instead of a girlish squeal, I heard a low whistle and looked up to see Blaise standing in the doorway, looking pleasantly surprised. My cheeks were aflame. I had on nothing but my underwear.</p><p>“Is this it?” he asked. “You’re an angel, cheers, Greengrass.”</p><p>“What? No!” snapped Daphne, who appeared behind him and levitated a package off her bed, thrusting it at him. <em>“This</em> is your present, you daft boy! Now get out! Can’t you see she’s changing?”</p><p>“That’s exactly what I’m seeing.”</p><p>“Look away, then!”</p><p>“Rosier is a big girl, she can decide for herself,” said Zabini, and his gaze upon me made me feel like I was on fire. I couldn’t resist purposefully sliding the lacy garter down my leg exaggeratedly slow, and delighted that his eyes followed my every move. I relished this power over him.</p><p><em>“Goodnight,</em> Zabini,” I said teasingly.</p><p>“You break my heart,” he said playfully, turning towards the door. “Goodnight, girls.”</p><p>When the door clicked shut, Daphne buried her face in her hands.</p><p>“I’m so sorry,” she said, looking frazzled. “I didn’t know you were—”</p><p>“It’s alright,” I laughed. “That was quite funny, actually.”</p><p>As I lay awake that night, thinking of how he had touched me in the classroom, I entertained a terrifying thought. Perhaps this wasn’t love after all. Perhaps it had always been about power.</p><p>I touched the rose pendant, feeling its comforting weight. No. No, surely not.</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ooh sexy :O i imagine witch fashion to be very elegant and vintage? hence the garters lol</p><p>couldn't resist adding just a splash of drarry in there, sorry pansy x</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. part VI</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>originally uploaded this chapter earlier this week, but then deleted it as i wasn't satisfied with it. this is edited and restructured quite a bit.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>the green and the black</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>part VI</strong>
</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>The Christmas holidays passed, as they always did, quite uneventfully. I went home to Hampshire, and the south was much warmer than the icy Scottish winter. It didn’t snow back home that year. The long winter days were cloudless and dark, and I spent most of my time in my room, reading or studying. There was little comfort in the high ceilings, the dark velvet drapes over every window, the Rosier crest imprinted on the tableware. Compared to Hogwarts, Christmas at home felt more like a business transaction than a holiday. Tracey, Daphne, and Pansy wrote me a few owls, and their letters brought me some of the cheer I was missing, but it was not the same.</p><p>I interacted with my parents as usual: reporting my progress at school (but only what they would want to hear, of course), informing them how N.E.W.T.s were going, and answering their interrogations on my grades. I was juggling six N.E.W.T. classes—Charms, Herbology, Astronomy, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Transfiguration, and Potions—which was one subject more than average, but my nonstop work all term was worth my parents’ brief satisfaction. They seemed quite pleased with my progress until they learned I couldn’t Apparate yet.</p><p>“You haven’t been taught to Apparate?” said my mother disdainfully.</p><p>“It’s an essential skill for anyone of age. What in Merlin’s name are they teaching you at that institution?”</p><p>Father took a deft puff of his ornate pipe, and a cloud of thick purple smoke drifted from the bowl. He exhaled with a dissatisfied sigh. “We will have to write to Dumbledore about this.”</p><p>“I believe we will be taught later on in the year,” I tried, but they were suddenly coldly adamant that Hogwarts was an unworthy waste of my time and their money. I went to study in my room.</p><p>I missed Blaise terribly. I had no pictures of us together, so each time I unintentionally found a way to displease my parents, I had only my memories to look back on for comfort. (And those weren’t exactly comforting—every time I thought back on the classroom, a hot flush would spread through my body, and I would have to excuse myself.)</p><p>That year, my parents decided they would organize a rare Winter Solstice gathering, which we used to hold every year when I was younger but for some reason stopped when I started school. Mother lectured me wisely—and, I was happy to see, quite excitedly, as far as excitement went with my mother—on the archaic tradition of the celebration, and why we ever stopped was beyond her. She spent all week preparing for it: planning the menu, decorating the mansion, and sending out elaborate invitations. I helped stamp the crest of Rosier in silver wax on each envelope.</p><p>It was a formal affair in the end, mostly consisting of family, and various second cousins and estranged uncles and haughty great-aunts all gathered in the estate gardens. Several of my father’s colleagues from the Ministry of Magic turned up, and even a journalist from the <em>Daily Prophet</em> appeared to take photographs. I was quite stiffly whisked from one dull conversation to the other until Draco arrived with his family, looking stuffy and bored in their chic robes.</p><p>“Cousin,” he greeted me curtly, and I planted myself at his side.</p><p>We sat in the garden tent together after dinner, drinking the champagne one of our cousins had brought as a gift.</p><p>“The Zabinis aren’t attending?” I asked him.</p><p>Draco took a sip, surveying the changing sky. “It’s your family’s affair, not mine.”</p><p>I tapped my fingernails against my glass. Of course. I had previously assumed the Zabinis had stopped attending our annual to-dos because of Blaise’s sudden dislike of me. It had never occurred to me that my family had simply stopped inviting them. It suddenly struck me, looking around, that there were mostly pure-bloods present that evening, and I believe we were related to almost all of them.</p><p>I spotted my parents entertaining the Malfoys by the fountain, the very picture of cultivated civility. Ancient roots, ancient money: the exact calibre of society they preferred. Behind them the sky was gradually growing dark.</p><p>“The longest night of the year,” I said, mostly to myself. I wanted to feel that magical surge of power my parents had described—I wanted to feel the age-long connection to my ancestors—I wanted to be present in this turning point in time. Instead I looked up at the sky and felt nothing.</p><p>We were then ushered by the nosy journalist to pose by our parents for the <em>Daily Prophet,</em> and she spent several minutes moving us around, making sure to capture the moon in the picture. I plastered on a polite smile, feeling my mother’s long nails digging into my shoulder.</p><p>“Wish we had some Moon Elixir,” Draco muttered once we were finally released. For once I had to agree with him.</p><p>The night before I would leave for Hogwarts, I joined my parents in the drawing room. Father sat by the fireplace in his armchair, reading some kind of report from the Ministry. Mother was opening owls.</p><p>“Oh, that shameless woman,” she muttered, levitating another letter to the fire with a flick of her wand and a whispered command. “How we ever associated ourselves with her and that son of hers…”</p><p>“Who was that, Mother?” I asked, although I had a pretty good guess. I watched cautiously as she picked up her silver letter opener, glinting like a dagger.</p><p>“Mrs Zabini,” she answered distractedly, opening up another letter, “with an invitation to her engagement party. We won’t be attending, of course.”</p><p>That would make husband number eight. I wondered how Blaise felt about that.</p><p>“You don’t still interact with that boy, do you?” she asked then, and her sudden disapproval made me sit up in alarm.</p><p>I thought of his letter all those years ago, thought of her opening it up and tossing it right into the fire—never to be answered, never to be read by me. A cold, stiff sort of anger came over me so suddenly that for a moment I couldn’t speak. I imagined jumping up from my seat and confronting both of them right there and then, and screaming and yelling about all the pain they’d knowingly caused me, and slamming the door in their faces. The unthinkable was tempting. But then I felt the signet ring tightly around my finger, and swallowed hard.</p><p>“No,” I said smoothly, “in fact I haven’t spoken to him in a long time.” A bold-faced lie.</p><p>My father seemed satisfied; my mother seemed suspicious.</p><p>“I’ve become very well acquainted with Daphne Greengrass,” I added, just to appease them.</p><p>“Oh, the Greengrasses are good people,” my father remarked, looking up from his report<em>,</em> “put them on the guestlist for the Summer Solstice, dear.”</p><p>That night I thought of nothing but Blaise, and desperately wished to write to him, but the fear of getting caught was enough to stop me from picking up my quill. I hadn’t spoken to him in nearly two weeks now, and I wanted nothing more than to hear his voice.</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>I returned to Hogwarts as soon as I could, and in the New Year I stood at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, waiting to board the Hogwarts Express. I felt heavy in my warm winter robes and scarf, which my mother had wrapped tightly around my neck, nearly scratching me with her long fingernails. I appreciated the gesture.</p><p>I met Tracey, Pansy, and Daphne on the platform, and together we found an empty compartment in the train. I sat at the window, feeling strangely morose. I wanted to feel that giddy excitement I’d felt before the holiday, but the winter chill seemed impermeable. A book sat on my lap, untouched. I stared out over the rolling scenes of dull hills and dark forests.</p><p>“She always gets like this after going home,” whispered Tracey to Daphne, and I pretended I didn’t hear. She looked at me with such a sympathetic sort of pity that I wanted to jump out the window and fly to Hogwarts on my own.</p><p>When the trolley came around, Tracey splurged and ordered a dozen Chocolate Frogs, a large box of Bertie Bott’s Beans and a mountain of pumpkin pasties.</p><p>“It’s 1997 now,” she reasoned to us, “and we ought to celebrate. In fact, the second we return to school, we’re throwing a New Year’s get-together.” She seemed quite resolute, despite the fact that possibly the last thing I wanted to do was attend another party, considering how Nott had ruined the last few. I took the frog she offered me, but didn’t open it. She was being intolerably cheerful, lying down with her head on Daphne’s lap, and I nearly wished I could pull a curtain out in front of me. I felt very much like I was intruding.</p><p>While they read their Chocolate Frog Cards out to each other—Adalbert Waffling, Crispin Cronk, Fulbert the Fearful—Pansy stood up, remarked frankly that she was “tired of listening to you lovebirds,” and left to find Draco. Now alone, I was suddenly too impatient for their sweet display as well, and mumbled I was going for some fresh air.</p><p>Clicking the door of the compartment shut, I walked down the bustling length of the train, my eyes trained on the horizon outside. It had started to rain. I thought of how my mother had almost scraped my cheek, and twisted the scarf tightly around my neck in her cold, unmaternal way.</p><p>Soon I came across Malfoy’s compartment, where Zabini and Parkinson were sitting quite regally. All three were dressed in black and made a rather imposing picture. I slid the door open.</p><p>“Couldn’t take it?” asked Pansy knowingly. I took a seat beside her, opposite Blaise.</p><p>“No,” I admitted. The atmosphere seemed tense. “What were you talking about?”</p><p>“Zabini’s new daddy,” snarked Draco, and Pansy let out a cackle.</p><p>Blaise rolled his eyes. “Oh, do shut up, Malfoy,” he snapped. He was bouncing his leg irritably, arms crossed.</p><p>We locked eyes. A trickle of understanding. While I was relieved to finally see him, my mood didn’t brighten and neither, it seemed, did his. We were both quite miserable all the way back to school, staring out the window at the rainclouds passing by.</p><p>When we finally got back to school early in the evening, I went for a long walk around the school grounds by myself. The rainstorm had become a mild drizzle by the time we got off the train, but the sky remained overcast, and the grass was soaking wet. Soon my shoes were caked in mud. I stared at the silhouette of the castle as I approached, its spiralling towers rising tall and proud in the surrendering sunlight, and felt I was at last at home again.</p><p>By chance or miraculous luck, I spotted Blaise in front of the clocktower, all alone in the fading evening. He was smoking, much to my surprise. (It wasn’t something he usually did—smoking was more Malfoy’s thing.) While the snow had long since melted away it was still freezing out, but he sat right on a stone bench in nothing but his uniform, seemingly unbothered by the cold. He seemed to still be in a foul mood, and while I myself felt slightly better, the sight of him reminded me of my mother’s letter opener shining dangerously in the flickering firelight. I felt uneasy.</p><p>“Zabini,” I greeted once I got closer, mostly to bring him out of his daze.</p><p>He glanced up at me, exhaling dark red smoke. He looked dreary.</p><p>“Rosier,” he responded shortly. I didn’t comment on the oddness of the picture or the coldness of his voice, and went to sit beside him, leaving space enough between the two of us. The stone bench was cold and damp. He offered me a cigarette from a crinkled pack—<em>Pendragon’s Reds,</em> with a picture of a puffing dragon on the front—and I shook my head.</p><p>After a few moments of silence, I dared a glance at him. His downcast eyes were trained on the ground, his profile sharp and pronounced in the dim light. There was a stray curl sticking to his forehead. I had the unbearable urge to grab a hold of his hand, his leg, a finger, the strands of his hair—the unspeakable want to touch him, any part of him—but it was not the right time. My fingers gripped the bench.</p><p>For some strange, inexplicable reason, being so near to him during such an intimate moment and seeing the raindrops like dew on his lashes, and the downward curve of his lips, and the clenching of his fingers—it felt like the end of the world.</p><p>“I thought of you over Christmas,” I said quietly, staring at the stubborn curl on his forehead.</p><p>He glanced at me, his expression softening ever so slightly, but said nothing. I watched him take a slow drag, the cigarette hanging loosely between his lips.</p><p>“I wanted to write you,” I admitted, “but…”</p><p>“But your parents,” he finished for me. “I know.”</p><p>His curt tone would have hurt me if not for the circumstances. I thought of something else to say—something, anything. To my relief, he spoke first.</p><p>“I saw your picture in the <em>Prophet,</em>” he said suddenly, and I flushed. “You looked beautiful.”</p><p>I shot him a look of utter disbelief. It was a terribly unflattering photograph—Draco and I posed stiffly by our parents, arms linked, looking far too old in our dark, formal dress robes—and the horrendous caption: <em>A dignified display of filial affection at the Rosiers’ tasteful Winter Solstice celebration!</em></p><p>“It was atrocious, and you know it. We looked miserable.”</p><p>“Malfoy, maybe,” he agreed. “I’m almost glad we weren’t invited.”</p><p>“I had no say in that,” I told him, feeling a pang of guilt. “Although it was a dreadful bore—you would’ve hated it. I think I was interrogated on exams about seven hundred times, and the only entertainment was my great-uncle’s lyre. You really didn’t miss anything.”</p><p>He snorted, and the sombre mood seemed to have lifted.</p><p>“Oh,” I said suddenly. “I’m sorry we won’t be able to make it to the engagement party.”</p><p>He laughed darkly then, raking a hand through his hair, displacing the stubborn little curl.</p><p>“Don’t lose sleep over it. I won’t be going to that either,” he said. “Mother can do what she wants, but so can I.”</p><p>Apart from the scathing, bitter tone of his voice, I detected a hint of indignation. Or perhaps not even that—perhaps simply sadness. Blaise had always been so fond, so proud, so protective of his mother. While he never showed any sort of care for his stepfathers, he always spoke so highly of her. In all my years of knowing him, I’d never heard Blaise voice any sort of resentment towards her before. It was difficult to hear.</p><p>“What is it that you want to do?” I asked him earnestly.</p><p>Blaise put the cigarette out on the edge of the bench, and cast Evanesco to vanish the evidence. He sat up then, breathing in deep the fresh, cold evening air. I watched his chest expand. When he breathed out, a puff of white clouded the space between us, and the cold look of disregard on his face faded. As if by force of habit, he turned towards me and leaned down to kiss me softly on the lips.</p><p>“I want to get inside. It’s bloody freezing out here,” he said, offering me his hand. He was smiling now, only slightly, but the sight of that alone was enough to warm my whole body. “I missed you for my New Year’s kiss,” he added lightly.</p><p>I blushed, taking his hand and letting him pull me up. “That would’ve been nice.”</p><p>Together we walked quietly to the dungeons, taking a longer route than usual. Our footsteps echoed in the stone corridor and left two sets of wet footprints. While we said very little, the mood was lighter than before. Whenever we passed a lantern or a torch, I would sneak a glance up at his face, at the upturned corners of his mouth. I knew I couldn’t fix his problems, and knew I shouldn’t try, but seeing the smile playing on his lips was enough to make me want to do everything within my power to keep it there.</p><p>Once we reached the corridor leading to the Common Room, I hesitantly turned to him.</p><p>“I’m always here for you, you know,” I told him quietly. My hands itched to touch him. “I know there’s very little I can do, but I can listen. Always.”</p><p>I was a little shaken saying those words, and felt almost naked confessing something so true—but if it meant I could make Blaise even a little happier, then the terrible ordeal of vulnerability would be worth it. <em>How terribly un-Slytherin of me,</em> I thought.</p><p>All year, we’d beguiled each other, trying to gain the upper hand. Now I didn’t care about the upper hand anymore; I don’t think I had for a long time.</p><p>I watched his dark eyes soften.</p><p>“You were always exceedingly good at listening to me complain about my stepdads,” he said finally, and the way he was looking down at me made me want to melt into the floor. “Thank you.”</p><p>“Always. Anytime,” I stammered.</p><p>We reached the portrait and I was about to say the password when I heard the muffled shouts of laughter and music. I paused for a moment, listening.</p><p>“That must be Tracey’s New Year’s get-together,” I recalled with a groan. Although I was in a much better mood than before, I still didn’t fancy spending the evening watching everyone around me get drunk. But if we entered now, getting away from her would be near impossible—she was still upset that I’d left them in the compartment and didn’t come back until we’d arrived at Hogsmeade.</p><p>I must’ve pulled a face, because Blaise raised an eyebrow. “Not in the mood for a soirée, Rosier?”</p><p>I opened my mouth to say that<em> no, no I most certainly am not, </em>when suddenly my back was pressed against cold stone. Blaise pushed me lightly into the wall, his long fingers trailing teasingly down my waist.</p><p>“We could go somewhere else if you’d like,” Blaise suggested. His voice sounded octaves lower, and a shiver went down my spine as he spoke. I could not resist him.</p><p>“Yes,” I breathed, barely able to think of another word. His sharp features were overtaken by a hungry look that made my knees go weak, so I leaned back against the wall, and he pressed his body into mine. I saw his pupils dilate until his eyes looked nearly entirely black, and the tension between us hung thickly in the air. Finally, as if we could no longer stand it, our lips crashed together for a long kiss. He pulled me tightly against him, hands still around my waist, his fingers digging into me. I sighed against him.</p><p>I’d waited for this for weeks.</p><p>Then he was off me and pulling me away, his hand gripping mine tightly, and I let him lead me into a dark classroom. I stood, quite breathless, as he locked the door behind us. I could barely make out his silhouette in front of me as my eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness—I could almost see the dark, broad outline of his shoulders—and all at once his lips were on me and he was pushing me against the door, hands tight around my waist. My fingers fumbled with his shirt for a second before I wrapped my arms around him. His cologne was so strong it made my head feel fuzzy.</p><p>Gripped by an intense sort of urgency, I started kissing down his neck, unbuttoning his shirt with unsteady fingers. He tangled one hand in my hair, tugging at the roots.</p><p>“Eager,” he remarked, which made my face flush hot deep red. In retaliation, I bit his neck and sucked hard on his skin, feeling a low groan vibrate deep in his throat. His grip on my hair tightened. “Oh, good girl.”</p><p>Something about the way he said it made my mouth feel dry.</p><p>“Blaise,” I whispered, suddenly dizzy. “I…”</p><p>I wasn’t sure what I was trying to say. My mind had gone completely blank.</p><p>Blaise pulled my hair to angle my head back and kissed me again, deeply. His tongue tasted of smoke. I was reeling, and the only reason I hadn’t toppled to the floor was his steady hand holding onto my waist and his knee between my legs, pinning me to the wooden door. Suddenly his mouth was on my neck, and he sucked at the sensitive skin. I let out a girlish gasp.</p><p>“Don’t leave a mark,” I said suddenly, knowing exactly how Davis and Parkinson would hound me if he did. Blaise stopped at once, teeth barely grazing my skin, and hummed something in response. He then moved on to trail kisses along my collarbone and up my cheek.</p><p>I unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and all but ripped it off his back, tugging insistently down his arms, but couldn’t quite take it off as his hands were too busy pulling at my jumper. He discarded it to the floor and easily unbuttoned my shirt with practiced swiftness, and in the dark I could just barely make out his smile.</p><p>“You’re wearing the necklace,” he said with a tone of pleasant surprise.</p><p>“Always,” I confessed. “I never take it off.”</p><p>He seemed very pleased with that, as all at once he was kissing me again, and my heart nearly stopped when his warm hands crept up my torso. His fingers stopped along the edge of my brassiere, teasingly tracing the skin, and I was certain he could feel my heart thundering against my ribcage.</p><p>“Can I?” he asked, and I made a strange, strangled sort of noise—and quickly cleared my throat to mumble something akin to yes.</p><p>I don’t know how long we stayed in that dark classroom, or even what time it was to begin with. Time was a hazy uncertainty when I was with him; all I could focus on were Blaise’s hands and tongue on my skin. The darkness enveloping the room instilled me with both an insatiable hunger and a heated passion I would otherwise be too timid to act upon—Blaise was entrancing in the dark, and I couldn’t stay away from him.</p><p>Eventually (probably in the early hours of the morning) we retreated to the Common Room, tired and aching from the long train journey. There were empty glasses and crumbs on the table, but everyone seemed to have already gone to bed. We parted ways at my door with one last quick kiss.</p><p>He smiled at me. In the low firelight I could see his cheeks were dark, and his lips were swollen—and he looked, for lack of better word, utterly sensual. “Sweet dreams, Rosier.”</p><p>“Yeah,” I breathed, nearly rendered speechless by his gaze. I watched him disappear into the boys’ dormitory, loving the curve of his back, loving the nape of his neck, loving everything.</p><p>When I got to bed, I found that my shirt was on inside out.</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>Tracey had evidently found herself an odd new hobby over Christmas: according to her, she’s stumbled upon a vast old collection of occultist books in her attic, both Muggle and magical, and with nothing else to do she quickly read her way through all of them. Now that we were back at Hogwarts she couldn’t help herself from bringing up all the strange facts and fictions she’d learned about Satanism or Wicca at every opportunity. I found it funny; the Muggles’ idea of witchcraft was fluffy and absurd, and I delighted in reading about their so-called ‘spells’—some of which involved throwing eggs at trees or burning locks of hair. It was all very medieval.</p><p>“…and apparently that’s why they use the pentagram,” Tracey was saying one night, “because the five points all correspond to those elements. Isn’t that just silly?”</p><p>“We covered that in Arithmancy,” said Daphne. “The number five does have an affinity with magic.”</p><p>“Alright, so certain numbers have magical properties, sure, but to think they’re <em>holy</em> is just hilarious!”</p><p>“Muggles will really think of anything,” scoffed Pansy.</p><p>We were all sat around her bed. I flicked absently through some of the pages of the many books she’d plopped down for us to peruse. “Those Pagan witches were really something,” I mumbled, letting the thick volume flutter shut. “Aren’t you learning about them in History of Magic, Daph?”</p><p>“Not yet,” she sighed. “We’re still on Greco-Roman witchcraft.”</p><p>“Greco-Roman?” said Millicent, intrigued. “That’s interesting. I was reading about Circe the other day—”</p><p>“Hold that thought!” cried Tracey suddenly, catching our attention. She scoured through the many books on the bedspread and pulled out an old leather-bound book. “Here! Look at this, it’s a real laugh.”</p><p>She thrust a page in front of us. I quickly skimmed the several blocks of dense text, and snorted at the picture depicting a group of Roman witches performing some sort of ritual. It looked like they were hitting each other with a cloth or a ribbon, but it was difficult to tell. <em>An artist’s rendition of the Luperci and local women taking part in the festival rites,</em> it read underneath.</p><p>“That’s the skin of a goat!” shrieked Tracey, pointing at it. “They skin a goat and then they slap each other with it. For a festival called Lupercalia. Isn’t that so silly?”</p><p>I laughed, tracing the picture with a finger. “What’s the point of it?”</p><p>“It’s a fertility ritual,” Daphne told us. “We studied it in class. They believed that if you got hit, it would help in both conception and in childbirth. All without any sort of magical basis, of course. The value of goat’s blood in fertility potions was actually only properly discovered centuries later.” She closed the book. “Say what you will about the Romans, but they were certainly inventive.”</p><p>“How very carnal,” said Millicent, turning her nose up.</p><p>Tracey was laughing. “Oh, just wait until you hear about the Bacchanalia.”</p><p>At first I merely thought my friend’s new fascination with this prehistoric pseudo-witchcraft was all very silly and amusing, and thought nothing much of it until it was nearing February and she suggested we perform one of those lurid rituals ourselves. We were brushing our teeth when she asked me, and I gave her a sceptical sideways glance, fully expecting her to tell me it was just another joke of hers. But apart from the toothpaste on the corner of her mouth, she looked entirely serious.</p><p>“Davis,” I said in disbelief. “You’ve got to be kidding.”</p><p>“I’m dead serious!” she said, muffled slightly by her toothbrush.</p><p>I laughed and rinsed. “Why would we mess around with <em>fake</em> witchcraft? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we actually go to school for this.”</p><p>“For a laugh!” she protested, shaking my arm. “It’ll be just like Hallowe’en! Come on, it’ll be fun.”</p><p>“And what if we get caught?”</p><p>“We’ll say it’s research,” she said. “For History of Magic.”</p><p>“Which neither of us take,” I pointed out, reaching for my pot of Coven Cold Cream.</p><p>“Personal research, then!” She came to stand right under my nose, her face inches from mine. I could smell the mint of her toothpaste. “Come on, Rosier. I know deep down that you like the sound of this.”</p><p>I sighed, shaking my head, but couldn’t stop a smile from creeping up on my lips. I did have a fondness for Tracey’s ideas, no matter how ridiculous.</p><p>“Fine. You’ve intrigued me,” I admitted. “But which ritual would we even do? Did you have one in mind?”</p><p>She had an impish smile I didn’t trust. “Just you wait.”</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>It turned out Davis apparently liked the sound of goat skin more than she’d let on, because that evening she pitched us the plan she’d worked out as we made the trek back to the dungeons from the Astronomy tower. I tried to keep up with all the details, but it was far too late in the day to be bombarded with details of sacrificial goats and wild figs.</p><p>“…we could forgo the goat, seeing as it would be quite difficult to get one—not to mention messy—so we can probably borrow some blood from the Potions cupboard instead, and we’ll need milk, too, and cake offerings.”</p><p>“Crabbe and Goyle will like that,” snickered Pansy.</p><p>“After the sacrifice and the anointment, we have to run anticlockwise around a field, naked,” continued Tracey, “but since we don’t have a cave anywhere near here, we could go to the Forbidden Forest for that. How does that sound?”</p><p>“It all <em>sounds</em> rather primitive,” snarked Draco. “Running around a forest? If you and Greengrass want to get up to this in your free time, be my guest, but don’t drag us into it.”</p><p>I couldn’t help but agree. “When you proposed an archaic ritual I thought you meant we brew a potion under the full moon or something, not sacrifice a goat.”</p><p>“Well, hold onto your pointed hats,” said Tracey, with a mischievous glint in her eye, “because I haven’t told you the most exciting part: there’s a fertility element to the festival.”</p><p>“I’m not really worried about my fertility quite yet, if I’m honest,” I said, and Daphne laughed.</p><p>“Well, there’s two sides to a <em>fertility</em> <em>ritual,</em> Rosier,” said Tracey slowly, and her tone clarified exactly why she was so interested in this concept to begin with.</p><p>“Oh, Davis, you are wicked,” said Blaise with a grin.</p><p>“Hold on. You want us to—” Pansy stopped as we passed a group of Gryffindors crossing the corridor and cast Muffliato so we wouldn’t be overheard. “You want us to go have sex in the woods, essentially?” Despite her evident surprise, she seemed rather intrigued by the idea, glancing fleetingly at Draco. “Who would—”</p><p>Tracey quickly held up a finger to silence her. “Don’t start planning just yet, Parkinson, because you’ll be wanting to know there was an element of luck involved.”</p><p>Pansy narrowed her eyes. “Luck?”</p><p>Daphne reluctantly nodded. “Yes, although how <em>lucky</em> it actually was is debatable—and I’ve told Trace we shouldn’t include this, but—in the Roman witch tradition, it’s believed they would hold a sort of…lottery.”</p><p>I stopped walking and looked back at her. She wasn’t joking.</p><p>“A sex lottery,” I deadpanned. I looked at Tracey to see if <em>she </em>was joking. Again, she was not.</p><p>“Don’t look at me like that,” she protested. “Nothing needs to happen that you don’t want it to. I’ve been researching all sorts of rituals just like this one, and what really interests me more than anything else is the altered state of mind—the hysterics of it all! It’s not just about sex or fertility, or any of that. Since we don’t know the specifics, we can’t know much for sure—but there’s such interesting food and sacrifice and mystique involved that we might as well make it our own. We can just run around the woods and stare at the moon if we want to. So are you interested, or not?”</p><p>All of this was so intense that I had to laugh nervously. “You’ve lost me with all this occult nonsense, Trace.”</p><p>“Oi! It’s not nonsense!” She thrust her lower lip out indignantly. “All your families celebrate plenty of ancient holidays, just like this one.”</p><p>“Name <em>one,”</em> I said as we shuffled down the stairs.</p><p>Tracey bit her lip, holding onto the railing as the stairs started to move downwards (she’d never been much of a fan of the moving stairs; she said they were terrifying). “Err, well…”</p><p>“Solstices and equinoxes, for starters,” supplied Daphne helpfully, taking a step down towards me. “Those celebrations originated with Pagan witches.”</p><p>“So we look at the sky for a bit,” said Draco, rolling his eyes. “That’s not exactly the same level as a <em>sex lottery, </em>Greengrass.”</p><p>“Come on, Malfoy,” said Blaise. “What better way to connect to our history?”</p><p>“I cannot believe you’re defending this, Zabini,” said Draco with a look of disbelief. But then he seemed to consider it, brow furrowed. Finally, he sighed. “But alright, I’ll join. Merlin, you’re far more wicked than we give you credit for, Davis. Remind me to let you plan my birthday.”</p><p>She seemed pleased with the compliment. I regarded her sceptically. Truthfully I thought her idea was exciting—maybe far too exciting.</p><p>“So we rub our faces in blood and milk, go off into the forest to run around for a bit and then have a tumble in the bushes?” I recapped.</p><p>For the first time, Tracey looked a little doubtful. “Well, when you put it like that, it sounds terrible.”</p><p>“On the contrary,” said Blaise, predictably. “That sounds like the best idea you’ve ever had, Davis.”</p><p>I turned to him. “You think so?”</p><p>He shrugged, looking rather nonchalant with the whole thing. “If you’re into it, I’m into it,” he said with a smirk.</p><p>I looked at Blaise and felt myself grow hot. A smile tugged at my lips. “I might be into it.”</p><p>“That was easy,” I heard Tracey whisper. She sounded quite satisfied. (I wasn’t surprised; Davis always got her way in the end.)</p><p>“But if we get caught, it’s all on you,” I added, giving her a warning flick on the shoulder. “I refuse to get my first detention for this.”</p><p>“As a Prefect, I have to agree,” said Pansy with a self-important sniff. “But as your friend, when were you thinking of?”</p><p>We crossed the corridor leading down to the Great Hall, and turned towards the ill-lit dungeons. Tracey tapped her chin in thought. “Well, it was always held in February,” she mused. “For three days. Which I think would be better because it’s more accurate to the—”</p><p><em>“No,”</em> Daphne interrupted, “not three days. You promised, Trace.”</p><p>“Fine! Fine. Let’s do the fourteenth. It’s on a Saturday, so we’ll have no lessons.”</p><p>So we set the date for Valentine’s Day, which fit the spirit of the ritual perfectly, and from then on we were all overcome by a hushed sort of excitement. Tracey let the word spread to a select few others in our year, and spent the majority of her time planning it; I think she greatly enjoyed being in charge of something, although she had the tendency to let herself get carried away.</p><p>Honestly, I was quite surprised at just how popular Tracey’s idea was with the others. I’d nearly forgotten how casual young witches and wizards were about sex, as my parents were of quite another opinion. (It wasn’t exactly unheard of for a Slytherin party to end with couples tangled in each other right in the Common Room, especially if Firewhisky and Moon Elixir were involved.) It almost seemed like our spirits tended to lean towards the debauched.</p><p>Then again, Slytherin witches and wizards had always been of the opinion that the ancient ways were best upheld, so perhaps I should’ve expected they would quickly embrace the idea of re-enacting old traditions, however extreme they may sound.</p><p>There were one or two things, however, that we weren’t all so keen on. It took some time, but Daphne and I managed to convince Tracey we wouldn’t have to be naked, and in return we helped her prepare the fig wine, the blood, and the milk. I felt ridiculous running out of the Potions classroom with three large vials of goat’s blood clinking in my pockets.</p><p>“I can’t believe Davis is making us steal actual blood for an actual ritual,” I muttered, laughing. “She’s mad.”</p><p>“Exitus acta probat,” quoted Daphne with an exhilarated grin. “Let’s go to the greenhouses for the figs.”</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>In the short weeks leading up to February fourteenth, the tension between Zabini and I was higher than ever. Everything he did made my heart race, and all it took was one look from him to derail my train of thought completely. I couldn’t keep my hands off of him when he was around, and when he wasn’t around, my thoughts. I was completely under his spell.</p><p>In truth, I was really only looking forward to the upcoming occasion because of him. From the very beginning, there seemed to be an unspoken understanding between the pairs—and in one case, a trio—who wanted to draw each other’s names in the lottery, and as far as I knew everybody had already cast their charms so the outcomes would be certain: Daphne and Tracey, Pansy and Draco, Millicent and Pucey. It was the unspoken nature of this understanding that made it feel so exclusive and intimate. Every time I caught Blaise’s eye, there was a surge of intensity in the atmosphere. It was thrilling. We’d never gone quite that far before, but the thought made me feel like I was on fire.</p><p>Since New Year’s, we had re-enacted our tryst in the classroom a few times—under the stands after a Quidditch match, in a broom closet on the second floor, on top of the Astronomy tower. Each time left me more breathless and heated than the last. Unfortunately, we were almost always cut short by some ill-timed inconvenience—a door slamming nearby, Filch’s muttering getting louder, or simply paranoia—but that was exactly what made it so exhilarating. I’d never had such a rush of adrenaline as when I was sneaking through the halls with Blaise at night to slip into some empty classroom; and from his years of practice, he was evidently very adept at it.</p><p>Every second I spent with him was like a dream. He was always so charming, so irresistible, so perfect. I couldn’t believe my luck. Every kiss with Blaise made me fall more deeply under his spell.</p><p>I was admittedly a little disappointed we weren’t officially together yet, although the attraction was undoubtedly mutual. We were certainly <em>something. </em>He definitely cared for me, and he definitely wanted me—I just wasn’t sure to what capacity. He could be so sweet sometimes, keeping a seat for me beside him or putting his arm around my shoulder on the way to class. During these brief, wonderful moments, I was certain I was his girlfriend. Other times, we felt more like friends with benefits—and while that idea was appealing in its own way, I thought we’d been both pretty clear about our feelings for one another.</p><p>I just couldn’t figure out why we hadn’t naturally progressed to a true relationship yet. It seemed that every time we inched closer to the romantic side, we took a step back; one night we’d be cuddling on the couch, and the next day he’d be flirting at the Ravenclaw table, and I would shrink back into uncertainty.</p><p>What upset me the most, deep down, was that we’d never been on a proper date before (and I didn’t count Slughorn’s party, seeing as I invited myself to come along for his sake). Ever since Christmas, we’d had our heated moments, and moments of tenderness, but there was never a turning point where we confirmed for certain that we were together. I tried not to think much of it, but it bothered me to no end, and the thought gnawed insistently at the back of my mind all through February.</p><p>We hadn’t ever really talked about the strange relationship between us, and neither of us ever brought it up. Our Housemates were highly aware of us regardless; more than once had one of our friends outed us for sneaking off or spending more time together than usual. Draco or Tracey would point out a bruise on his neck, or the messiness of my tie, and Blaise would simply scoff and say, “Sod off, Malfoy,” or “Steady on, Davis,” and then smoothly change the subject. He’d acknowledge it in the moment, laugh it off—and that would be the end of it.</p><p>This was a bit strange, considering Zabini was usually so open and blasé about his many flings—I used to hear him brag to the other boys all the time, and he’d infamously describe exactly how he got caught in all sorts of awkward positions—but with us, there was a level of secrecy I hadn’t anticipated. I wanted to ask him about it—I really did, but whenever we happened to be alone together we usually got up to a lot more than just talking, and it was difficult to remember what I wanted to discuss in the first place with his hand up my skirt. What I really needed was clarity, but the right opportunity never presented itself.</p><p>Although it felt silly to admit, what I feared the most—and what I could never bring myself to voice to him out loud—was the thought that now that Blaise had finally won me over, he wouldn’t be interested for much longer. I’d seen it happen time and time again over the years: he would find an interest, blatantly pursue them, and a few weeks later they would be through. The thought of being just another one of Zabini’s temporary conquests made me want to crawl under my bed and never come out again.</p><p>It only got worse the closer we got to Valentine’s Day, and I was reminded how popular Blaise Zabini was with other students. I heard through the grapevine that one person in our House and one Hufflepuff had already asked him out. There was no doubt in my mind that he’d declined them, but it did make me realize that I’d forgotten just how widely admired he was, and that he would probably never outgrow his flirty reputation seeing how much he revelled in this kind of attention.</p><p>We were sitting in the courtyard one afternoon when a Ravenclaw came up to us and thrust a letter in his hands, and promptly walked away, blushing. Blaise opened up the envelope in front of everyone and read every word, wearing a smug smirk I was far too used to seeing.</p><p>“Zabini wins over another heart,” he said with self-satisfaction. I felt a painful pang as I watched him replace the letter into the envelope and slip it into his pocket.</p><p>Draco rolled his eyes. “Your arrogance is staggering.”</p><p>I didn’t know how to react. I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to feel possessive or not when I didn’t even know if he was my boyfriend, so I stayed quiet and subconsciously ripped up grass from the ground. It ate away at me until late that night when I emerged from the dormitory freshly out the bath, and Blaise beckoned me over to the couches, where he was sitting with the other boys.</p><p>“Come here, darling,” he said softly, and I found myself drawn to him. His face was stunning in the soft glow of the fire. He pulled me onto his lap, hiking up my nightgown to absentmindedly stroke my thigh with his thumb. The way he was looking at me with such warmth and affection made the whole world slow down. I let myself sink into him, my arms around his neck, my cheek resting against the rise and fall of his chest. The boys said nothing—Draco was too busy complaining about Potter, anyway—and there was no one else around to see, but that moment of tenderness made all my worries melt away.</p><p>A new problem arose—or, rather, resurfaced—when Tracey, Daphne, and I took a trip to Hogsmeade in the last days leading up to the ritual. At first we fancied a cup of tea, but as we passed by Madam Puddifoot’s we saw how crowded it was and how tacky the shop had been decorated in anticipation for the upcoming holiday, with golden cherubs tossing pink confetti in the air, lacy bunting all over the walls, and giant heart-shaped balloons. We agreed to go to the Three Broomsticks for a pint instead—it was just as cramped as the tea shop, but at least there wouldn’t be any heart-shaped glitter in my drink.</p><p>We squeezed into a table near the back next to a large group of Hufflepuffs, and I nearly knocked my Butterbeer over trying to move the chair out. When we finally sat down I shed my coat—it was always so stiflingly hot in the pub. Daphne reached over to affectionately straighten the collar of my dress.</p><p>Tracey was telling us all about the Bacchanalia, another type of festivity she was evidently very interested in—“Trace, one thing at a time,” I chided with a laugh—when I spotted Blaise and Draco at the other end of the pub, sitting in a booth. He had on a tight black jumper and was lazily fingering his golden necklace, chin resting on his hand. He looked straight out of <em>Spellbound</em>. I was about to suggest we join them when Selina Moore and Scarlett Lympsham beat us to it, drinks in their hands. They squeezed in tightly beside them.</p><p>Tracey stopped ranting about the influences of the Greek Dionysia on Roman Bacchanals to follow my gaze across the room.</p><p>“Oh, those boys,” Daphne sighed, taking a sip of her gillywater.</p><p>“Boys indeed,” I repeated, looking down at the table. I had on that colour-changing nail varnish, and today it shimmered somewhere in between green and purple. It suddenly looked unbearably ugly.</p><p>“They’re incorrigible, really.”</p><p>“You’re right about that,” I agreed, tapping my ugly fingernails against my glass. “Go on, Davis. Keep talking about your debauchery.”</p><p>Tracey levelled me with a look across the table. “You’re <em>fine,</em> Rosier,” she reassured me. “Zabini can’t keep his hands off of you.”</p><p>I sighed. She knew me too well.</p><p>“That’s what I’m worried about,” I admitted. “He’s so—physical.”</p><p>“Isn’t that a good thing?” said Tracey with a wink.</p><p>“Well, yes,” I said, blushing, “but he hasn’t really been especially…romantic. This could very well be just another passing fling to him.”</p><p>“What, are you trying to say buying you a gold necklace wasn’t romantic?” Tracey scoffed. “I wouldn’t do that for a <em>passing fling.”</em></p><p>I flushed at the happy memory, bringing the pendant out from under my collar. “No,” I said slowly, considering this. “But it was a Christmas present. And it’s not like we’re officially dating, or anything. We’ve never even been on a proper date before; we just hook up and never bring it up again afterwards, and then he goes off and flirts with someone else. He could end up choosing whoever he wants for the lottery,” I added. “He’s spoiled for choice.”</p><p>“First of all, it’s a <em>random</em> lottery!” protested Tracey, who was adamant that there would be no cheating, despite the fact that Daphne had already cast a charm to ensure they’d be together. “And secondly, Zabini has been trying to seduce you all year. I think you can rest easy that he’s not gonna go after <em>Selina Moore</em> again on a whim.”</p><p>“They’re definitely through,” confirmed Daphne. “He’s told me so himself. You really don’t need to worry about that.”</p><p>I was inclined to believe her seeing as she was one of Blaise’s closest friends, but watching him and Selina rub shoulders made me think otherwise.</p><p>“Doesn’t really look like it,” I said resentfully.</p><p>“Careful, there. Green’s not a good colour on you,” Tracey chided. (Daphne gave her a look of confusion, and Trace quickly explained she didn’t mean Slytherin green, she meant green with envy, and I stopped listening.)</p><p>“It’s not just her I’m worried about,” I said after a moment. I took a sip of Butterbeer, trying to find a way to adequately explain what was irking me. “It’s—everything. Someone’s constantly all over him.”</p><p>“Well, you know what, witches used to be almost entirely polyamorous back in the day, so maybe this could simply be a true return to the old ways—”</p><p>
  <em>“Trace.”</em>
</p><p>“I’m just saying the option is there,” she said innocently, and I laughed, though I seriously considered the possibility for a moment. Perhaps under other circumstances, that could be a solution—Selina was exceedingly pretty. I glanced at them again. Blaise was all charm, leaning in towards the girls, and even Draco appeared to be in the spirit of the holiday.</p><p>“He’s just such a <em>flirt,”</em> I sighed, watching them. “I can never tell when he’s being serious.”</p><p>Daphne tutted disdainfully. “That’s definitely Zabini. I don’t even think he realizes he’s doing it half the time. Merlin, that boy is hopeless.”</p><p>I caught his eye then, and he gave me a sly smile from across the room. For a second I wondered if he was trying to get a rise out of me—challenging me with a little jealousy, just like with Lisa Turpin that time—but we were far beyond playing those sorts of games, so I simply smiled back. And then Scarlett touched her hand to his wrist.</p><p>“He makes me want to Incendio the entire pub,” I muttered through my teeth. This made Tracey bark out a laugh and reach over the table to playfully slap my hand.</p><p>“That’s my Slytherin girl!” she cried, pleased. “Keep that energy up for this weekend, would you?”</p><p>“I was joking, Davis, don’t get your hopes up.”</p><p>Daphne sat back in her seat, regarding me with an uncharacteristically puckish smile on her lips. “You’re a formidable sorceress, Rosier,” she said with a click of her tongue. “If you’re <em>that </em>worried, I suggest you do something about it. Something a little less devastating than Incendio. Where’s your sense of ambition?”</p><p>I glanced at the booth one last time, where Selina was now trying a sip of Blaise’s drink.</p><p>Well. I couldn’t deny that Greengrass certainly had the right idea, but I wouldn’t even know where to begin.</p><p>Soon we left the Three Broomsticks, as I wanted to pass by the library to check out a book for an upcoming Potions test. On the way out, we passed by their booth to say hello.</p><p>“Boys,” we greeted, arm in arm.</p><p>“Davis, Greengrass,” said Blaise with a pleasant smile. “Rosier.” He looked me up and down. “Lovely to see you, as always.”</p><p>“Zabini,” said Daphne. “Malfoy. Girls.”</p><p>“You lot up to anything interesting?” asked Tracey.</p><p>“Not particularly,” Malfoy replied, his fingertips on the edge of his glass.</p><p>“What a <em>shame,”</em> lamented Daphne, and I nearly laughed.</p><p>“And you?” asked Scarlett, looking up at us. She was actually rather polite for a Slytherin.</p><p>“Just looking forward to the weekend,” I said innocently, although the two girls weren’t privy to what would be taking place.</p><p>At this, Blaise rested his chin on his hand, looking rather amused. “That makes both of us, then,” he remarked. “Care to join us, ladies?”</p><p>I gave him a manicured smile. The last thing I wanted to do was witness their flirting close-up. “Maybe next time, Zabini,” I said, brushing my hand lightly over his arm.</p><p>“Bye, boys,” we chorused, turning to leave. I winked at Blaise over my shoulder and caught his lingering look of bewilderment.</p><p>As we headed for the door I heard one of the girls whisper, “Who are they, the three weird sisters?” which was actually quite funny. We did make a striking trio walking together, arms linked: Daphne with her startlingly blue eyes and pale, dead straight hair, me with my dark waves, Tracey with her deep complexion and coily curls. I wondered if the nickname would catch on.</p><p>That evening, Blaise approached me in the library as I was studying for Potions and leaned over the desk to deliver a deep kiss, leaving me quite breathless.</p><p>“Hello to you too,” I said, startled but pleased.</p><p>He took a seat opposite me. “How was your day, lovely?”</p><p>And just like that, he was sweet again, touching my hand across the table and listening intently. My worries subsided almost entirely during those little moments, and suddenly my anxious envy earlier that day felt entirely silly.</p><p>I was suitably annoyed, however, when word about our Valentine’s Day plans got out of hand and quite a few Slytherins from the year above and below started to show an interest. It was only when Scarlett and Selina approached Tracey and I asking for details that I started to grow worried again about whether or not the understanding between Blaise and I was really as exclusive as I’d first thought. After all, I was only one of his many interests over the years. He was so much more experienced than me, and while at first that was simply another alluring part of his character, now it was starting to feel rather intimidating. Maybe I wasn’t quite as special to him as I’d hoped.</p><p>“Oh, so he’s fucked around a bit,” said Tracey nonchalantly when I voiced this worry. “We’re all mature, consenting witches and wizards here.”</p><p>And she wasn’t wrong. I didn’t fault Blaise for anything he’d done in the past; considering our muddled history, it really was none of my business who he decided to pursue after the Yule Ball. I was, however, starting to grow anxious that perhaps his old flames had reignited. Selina, in particular, had been<em> involved</em> with him several times, and they were still rather close—the occasional flirting, casual touches. I felt quite helpless to stop it. Witches have always been jealous creatures, and I could not help myself from stewing in my envy even now.</p><p>As I got ready for bed Friday night, anxious and excited for tomorrow, I caught the glint of the golden necklace in the mirror. I tapped it with my finger and watched it swing back and forth. The tiny rose was a great comfort. Silently I gazed at my reflection in the vanity, chewing my cheek.</p><p>What was I getting myself so worked up about?</p><p>It was entirely foolish of me to fret all day long about whether or not Blaise Zabini would want to choose me for some bizarre little fertility ritual just because some other witches decided to flirt with him. At the end of the day, I was quite certain of my affections for him, however strange and murky our relationship was. I knew what I wanted: I wanted him. I wanted to love him, and I wanted him to love me.</p><p>What I needed to do was stop agonizing over it and find some way to keep his attention on me, and only me.</p><p>With a sense of resolve, I braided my hair, tied it up with ribbons, and got into bed. Daphne and Tracey were surreptitiously whispering about something, probably in preparation for tomorrow. Even Millicent seemed to be looking forward to it, humming a tune to herself in the bathroom. Pansy, especially, was greatly anticipating tomorrow’s events. She even asked me whether I thought she suited black or green better as she dug through her mountain of undergarments. (I was surprised, since I was pretty sure she and Draco were off-again, but it was somewhat unclear and I knew better than to ask.)</p><p>“If we’re going to be running around the forest,” she explained, gazing at her reflection in the ornate mirror by her bed, “then at least I’m going to look good doing it.”</p><p>“You’re wearing <em>that?”</em> I asked in surprise, trying not to stare at her long legs. She had on a short, coquettish negligée, almost entirely sheer, with only her underwear underneath.</p><p>“Good point,” she murmured, slipping the negligée off. “I might not wear this on top.”</p><p>This actually opened up a new realm of possibility. I’d originally assumed we’d all just be wearing our nightgowns, but the idea of something more tantalizing was actually rather tempting, especially considering Zabini’s reaction the last time he’d seen me in such a state of undress. I had a short, rosy slip that might be perfect—or I could model Pansy’s idea and wear nothing but lingerie. The thought alone made the room feel stiflingly hot.</p><p>I suddenly felt invigorated for tomorrow. Regardless of what ended up happening, I could still have my fun. And if I wanted to hold Zabini’s attention for myself, it couldn’t hurt my chances to turn up the heat a little bit.</p><p>I got out of bed, opened up my trunk, and started looking for something suitable to wear.</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>can you tell i've been reading The Secret History and watching Chilling Adventures of Sabrina??</p><p>(don't ask me how they know muffliato if it's from harry's potions book in 6th year, i do not know)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. part VII</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>the green and the black</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>part VII</strong>
</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>I woke up on Valentine’s Day to the sound of cheesy romantic ballads blaring in the dormitory. I blinked one bleary eye open and saw Tracey’s blurry silhouette lit by the green glow of the lake. She was gathering up lace and pink paper in a stationary box, blasting the wireless at full volume.</p><p>“You’re finally awake!” she noted brightly. “Thought you drank a Draught of Living Death for a second.”</p><p>I leaned up on my elbow. “What time is it?”</p><p>“Half twelve,” she said. “You slept through breakfast, but come join me in the Common Room. I’m making Daphne a valentine.”</p><p>I snorted. She really was a strange one, that sweet girl.</p><p>While sleeping more was tempting I knew it was already far too late to stay in bed, so I wrapped my dressing gown around my nightdress and joined her at the table, where red and pink card, heart-shaped confetti, and curly ribbons were piled high in her stationary box. I thought it was completely childish at first, but then I imagined giving Blaise a handmade card and a blush spread to my cheeks. That was enough to convince me. Last night I’d been so determined to gain his attention, after all—and if he was receiving letters and cards from hordes of admirers left and right, I may as well offer him my own.</p><p>It was quite fun actually, crafting (except when Tracey nearly set fire to the ribbons). I sorted through the coloured beads and confetti Tracey placed in front of me, wondering what Blaise would like. With unabashed girlish enthusiasm, I picked out gold hearts and a white lace ribbon, and used Diffindo to cut red card into the shape of a large heart.</p><p>Somebody must have decorated, because never in my years at Hogwarts had I seen the Slytherin Common Room decked out in ruffled white lace and heart-shaped bunting. Enchanted paper doves flew back and forth, cooing majestically from the serpentine pillars. Tracey had placed the radio on the table, and we cheerfully listened to the weather forecast, humming along to the jingles on the advertisements—<em>Shadows and spirits making you blue? Then Griffin’s Ghost Repellent’s for you!</em></p><p>I had just secured the lace around the edges of the card when a white paper bag was slid in front of me, and I glanced up to see Blaise and Daphne joining our table, looking like a pair of moving display models from Madam Malkin’s: Blaise in a sleek black turtleneck, golden necklace shining on his chest, and Daphne in a pale pink dress, her nose red from the cold, her hair slightly windswept.</p><p>“Good morning,” I said, smiling at the sight of them. “What’s this?”</p><p>“Afternoon, more like,” he corrected. “For you. You missed breakfast.”</p><p>“Get in, loverboy,” snickered Tracey.</p><p>Curiously I peered into the bag, and the sweet, warm aroma of almond and vanilla filled my nose. Inside was a box of pastries and a cup of hot chocolate from the tiny bakery at the very edge of Hogsmeade—my favourite shop, but it was too much of a trek to visit often. I rarely went there anymore.</p><p>There was something else. I reached in and produced a single red rose, tied with a bow.</p><p>“Blaise,” I uttered in disbelief. I was touched. “Thank you.”</p><p>“Happy Valentine’s, Rosier,” he said casually, and slid the heart-shaped card over to himself across the table, eyes glinting. “What’s this? Is it for me?”</p><p>Instantly my face flushed, and I nearly spluttered while taking a sip of the hot chocolate. It was still piping hot in the paper cup. “Maybe,” I murmured.</p><p>Blaise looked immensely pleased with himself. “You’re sweet.” He leaned down for a kiss on the cheek, and I gave him a quick peck. “Good girl. I’ll leave you to it, then.”</p><p>With a lingering look of affection, he slid the card back towards me and went to join Malfoy, Nott, Pike, Crabbe, and Goyle on the couches. I was slightly bewildered by this domestic side of him as I watched him go, hands in his pockets, whistling to himself. When I turned back towards the table, Daphne and Tracey were looking at me with upturned eyebrows.</p><p>“And we were worried about Mr Zabini not being romantic enough?” Tracey prodded sarcastically. “Did you catch that look on his face? He was proper chuffed.”</p><p>“Oh, stop it, Davis,” I told her, unable to hide a smile. “Perhaps I was being…silly.”</p><p>“I should say so,” said Daphne, giving Tracey a tap on the wrist when she tried to slide the pastries over.</p><p>“Did you put him up to all this, Greengrass?” I asked, gesturing at the bag.</p><p>But Daphne shook her head, smoothing her hair down and readjusting the silver hair clip I’d gifted her for Christmas. “No,” she said. “In fact, I didn’t even know you liked that place until today. I just wanted to pass by Honeydukes, but he insisted on walking all that way. It was freezing.”</p><p>The pastries were still warm, dusted with a soft, snowy layer of icing sugar. I finished the card and wrote a note in swirling gold script—nothing overly embarrassing, just a few sweet sentiments—and signed it with my initials. After some consideration, I also drew a little rose, seeing as that seemed to be a running thing between us. When I was done I glanced up at Daphne and Tracey, who sat with their arms wrapped around one another, a glittery pink card in Daphne’s deft fingers. I smiled. The boys had gone to play a friendly round of Quidditch, so after some hesitation I decided to leave my card on Blaise’s pillow.</p><p>When the boys barged in through the portrait later that afternoon, Quidditch robes sticking to their skin and capes dragging on the floor, I was reading <em>Enchanted Encounters </em>in an armchair with Millie’s cat purring on my lap. Blaise gave me an obnoxiously flirty wink from across the room, and promptly disappeared into the boys’ dormitory. Not twenty minutes later he emerged, freshly showered, with an infuriatingly smug sort of smirk on his face. He placed his hands on either armrest, leaning down towards me.</p><p>“How romantic of you, Rosier,” he teased, reaching down to brush stray strands of hair from my forehead.</p><p>“Do you like it?” I asked, a little more anxiously than I’d meant to, trying very hard (and very unsuccessfully) not to blush.</p><p>Blaise let out an airy chuckle. His finger trailed down to my chin and lifted it up towards him. “You’re so cute,” he murmured. “I love it.”</p><p>My heart thundered at his words. From this close, I could smell his cologne—and something else, either soap or shampoo. Sandalwood and patchouli.</p><p>“Are you looking forward to tonight?” he asked finally, with a look of expectancy. I knew exactly what the intended subtext was. For a second, it was almost like we were playing the flirtation game again.</p><p>“Maybe,” I replied coyly, giving the cat a scratch behind the ear. “Are you?”</p><p>His dark gaze was smouldering. “I am if you are.”</p><p>“Then yes,” I replied. “I think you’ll like what I’m wearing,” I added quietly, just so he could hear. The look on his face was all the reassurance I needed.</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>The girls got ready after dinner, and soon our entire dormitory was swept up in a stir, with jewellery, lipstick, and shoes being swapped back and forth. There were countless bottles in shades of purple and pink, several pairs of Everlasting Eyelashes, and a half-empty tin of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion cluttering the vanity, where Pansy was letting Tracey apply a dark maroon pigment to her lips. She looked stunning in deep emerald lingerie, with her hair loose and long, and the dramatic effect was very imposing. Millie wore some kind of corset, and Daphne looked sweet in a pale pearl negligée.</p><p>Tracey, however—ever the wild card—proudly donned Gryffindor crimson, insisting it was the colour of love.</p><p>I surveyed the ensemble I’d picked out in Pansy’s mirror, heart racing at the mere thought of all the impending excitement. Truthfully, I felt pretty; Daphne had dabbed rouge across my cheeks and nose, and Tracey made sure my hair fell in pleasing waves down my shoulders. I had absentmindedly picked up Blaise’s rose and given it a lazy twirl, pressing the sweet petals to my nose, when the door burst open and Selina Moore marched in, wrapped up in a green silk dressing gown.</p><p>“Parkinson,” said Selina with a grin, approaching Pansy’s bed, “do you have those shoes you said I could borrow?”</p><p>“Of course,” replied Pansy with a tight smile. She handed Selina a pair of black pumps, and she plopped herself down on the bed to smoothly slip them on. After untying her dressing gown and throwing it over the bedspread, she came to stand beside me by the mirror, and I saw with a blush that her attire was very similar to Pansy’s. She critically examined the shoes from every angle, and seemed quite pleased with herself. (And Merlin, I would too, if I looked like her.)</p><p>“You look ravishing,” she said quite unexpectedly, looking me up and down in the reflection of the mirror. Before I could stammer out a response she turned to me with a sharp smile, her eyes clear and calculating. I was never particularly close to Selina, seeing as she was a Seventh Year, but she was somehow even prettier and infinitely more intimidating up close than from afar.</p><p>My face must have betrayed my shock, because she chuckled, red lips parting to reveal perfect teeth. She was stunning, and it really wasn’t fair.</p><p>“So who were you hoping to get paired up with tonight?” she asked, her face inches from mine.</p><p>I swallowed hard as I was hit by a strong waft of her jasmine perfume. “I think we both know,” I told her, trying to keep my voice even.</p><p>“Well then,” she said, touching the ribbon in my hair, “I suppose we’ll see.”</p><p>“I suppose,” I repeated, a little coldly.</p><p>Selina studied my face, that sharp, cunning smile never leaving her lips. “Well, listen, lovely. I get it,” she said, her voice low. “That boy is like a walking love potion. I certainly don’t blame you, so you shouldn’t blame me.” She reached a single blood-red nail to flick my necklace, and I was sure she could have punctured my skin. “And hey—if it doesn’t work out with Blaise for either of us, maybe you and I could give it a go.”</p><p>I was so utterly floored that I couldn’t think of a single thing to say, and before I knew it she was gliding out the room, tall heels echoing on the stone floor. I watched her grip the door handle with her long, pale fingers and clawed fingernails.</p><p>When she was gone, Tracey let out a melodramatic gasp. “She is <em>so</em> sexy,” she cried, throwing herself onto her mattress. “I don’t know if I want to be her or <em>on</em> her.”</p><p>She pretended to fan herself, and Daphne whacked her on the arm with a makeup brush. Despite everything, I had to agree. Selina was really quite sensational. I wasn’t sure what her motive was, but in truth it didn’t matter; I was left rather breathless. I understood why Zabini couldn’t stay away from her.</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>We convened in the Common Room at eleven o’clock, wearing dark cloaks and hoods to camouflage into the night. The total number ended up being about twenty-odd students, far more than we originally anticipated, but that only added to the excitement. After Tracey made sure everyone was present, I checked that my wand was tucked into the strap of my garter and quietly followed everyone out the portrait hole, careful not to make any noise. We snuck through the cold, dark dungeons, huddled closely to one another. Although I had grown used to Tracey’s mischief by now, most of the other students had never taken part in one of her infamous ideas before, and the atmosphere was enlivened by their hushed whispers.</p><p>One by one, we slipped through an open window in an empty classroom on the ground floor. I landed lightly on the damp grass, grateful I’d decided to wear shoes instead of slippers. The moon was a thin sliver of a crescent, dimly bathing the castle grounds in a silvery glow. My heart was thundering as we approached the Forbidden Forest. I caught up to Tracey at the front of the group.</p><p>“Davis?”</p><p>“Hm?”</p><p>“Just checking to see if we’ve ever stopped to consider the potential dangers of this situation?” I whispered, gripping her arm.</p><p>“Of course,” she replied, “isn’t that why we’re doing it?”</p><p>The forest was even more eery at night than usual, and my heart leaped whenever someone trod on crackling fallen leaves and broken branches. Tall trees creaked and animals—or some other unknown creatures—scurried through the undergrowth, unseen. Dark shadows seemed to follow us from all corners of the woods.</p><p>“Scared, Rosier?” asked Draco with a cocky grin, and I nearly shrieked.</p><p>I shot him a sharp look. “What’s there to be afraid of, Malfoy?” I asked coolly. (Still, I kept my fingers close to my wand.)</p><p>Tracey pulled back a curtain of low-hanging vines to reveal a grassy clearing in the middle of the forest, with three pewter cauldrons in the centre. I held my breath, gazing up at the dark silhouettes of the spindly branches rising above us. We assembled into a tight circle around the cauldrons, each filled with some odd substance—the blood, the milk, and little bits of parchment. The lottery slips.</p><p>“Welcome, everyone,” said Tracey ceremoniously, stepping into the circle, “to our very own Slytherin Lupercalia!”</p><p>There was a sensational shrieking from the girls, and a holler of boyish laughter.</p><p>“We have gathered here tonight to honour those who came before us, and to observe their ancient rites in celebration of our proud, long history of witchcraft. And wizardry,” she added before Malfoy or Nott could intervene. I could tell she was revelling in overseeing this mischief. “Well then. Let us begin these salacious festivities, shall we?”</p><p>And with that, she removed her wool cloak with a flourish and let it drop to the forest floor, revealing the red silk slip she was wearing underneath. With shrieks of laughter, everybody followed her example and began to shed their cloaks and robes to reveal bare flesh. The tension hung thickly in the air.</p><p>Across the clearing, I could not help but stare as Zabini slid his cloak off his shoulders, marvelling at the smooth ripple of muscle across his arms and torso. Although I’d seen him shirtless quite a few times now, I was momentarily stunned gazing at his bare skin so openly. He wore nothing but a pair of black boxer shorts and his gold chain, and at once all the thrill and excitement of the night rushed back tenfold like a thousand butterflies in my stomach. Our eyes met, and his smouldering look was enough to make me feel faint.</p><p>Holding his gaze, I slipped the heavy cloak off my shoulders and felt at once a ripple of goosebumps as my skin met the cold night air. The night before, Pansy helped me decide on a black set, far more extravagant than what I usually wore every day. The brassiere was risqué and plunging, with a matching garter belt to hold up dark, sheer stockings. The necklace perched just under my collarbone, the cold metal glinting in the dark. Remembering an old trick that worked wonderfully before, I had brushed on the barest trace of pearl dust across my bare arms and collarbones to make them delicately catch the moonlight. I felt exceptionally vain with Blaise’s eyes fixed so intensely upon me, and gave him a kittenish smile as I adjusted the straps on my shoulders.</p><p>“How exhilarating,” breathed Daphne beside me, radiant in the moonlight.</p><p>“I’m cold,” complained Millicent, holding onto her cloak.</p><p>All of us sat down on the bed of grass around the cauldrons, shoulders touching. With a rather ceremonial silence, Tracey went around the circle and poured us each a goblet of sweet fig wine. I could feel Blaise’s eyes fixed on me again, and deliberately brushed my hair behind my ear, letting my fingers trail through the strands. It was a move I knew he was weak for; he did it himself nearly every time we were alone together.</p><p>We drank the wine while Tracey recounted with rapture the history behind the festival—Romulus and Remus, the cave, sacrificial goats and so forth—and honestly I was barely listening, trying instead to enjoy the wine under the pale moonlight. It was pleasantly sweet, and soon I felt light and loose. The creaking and rustling in the forest became nothing more than the mystical ambience of the night, not a terrifying threat.</p><p>With bated breath, we waited until Tracey finally announced it was time for the lottery, and she whispered “Wingardium Leviosa,” lifting the little cauldron up into the air. She really had a flair for the dramatics.</p><p>“May the best witch win, Rosier,” whispered Selina beside me. I looked at her and her cocky smile, and perhaps it was the wine, or our short interaction earlier tonight—but suddenly I wasn’t worried. I was inexplicably calm.</p><p>“I should hope so, Moore,” I replied, turning away.</p><p>Pansy drew the first name. I played with the ends of my hair, absently twirling a curl between two fingers. She brought the slip of parchment up to her nose.</p><p><em>“Theodore Nott?”</em> Pansy exclaimed in disbelief, dark lips curled in disgust. “But what about—”</p><p>“Fair is fair, Pansy,” said Tracey matter-of-factly, sounding rather like McGonagall. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to do anything, but we can’t redraw. Those are the rules.”</p><p>She looked at the slip of parchment, then at a grinning Nott, and rolled her eyes. “Oh, fine,” she snapped, and I honestly couldn’t believe that she didn’t just walk away then and there. They anointed one another with the blood, and wiped it off with wool soaked in the milk—and while Tracey encouraged them to smile, like the texts specified, Pansy’s face remained stone-cold.</p><p>“At least he’s not a half-blood,” I heard her mutter.</p><p>One by one, names were picked to dictate the couples, and—like I’d suspected—most of the pairings were unsurprisingly predetermined. Millicent looked over the moon when she picked Adrian Pucey, who shrugged and came to sit beside her. Daphne picked Tracey, and the latter seemed delighted at their good fortune, but I knew Daphne had been looking for the right charms in the library just the week before.</p><p>Then it was Zabini’s turn. He brushed his curls away from his face and unhurriedly picked a slip from the cauldron, holding it between his forefinger and thumb. I watched the tantalizing veins in his arms as he unfolded the parchment. Half of us remaining in the circle leaned forward with anticipation—including Selina, Scarlett Lympsham, and Timothy Morcott.</p><p>I wasn’t worried—at least, not anymore. Somehow in this group of twenty, and in this vast endless forest, only the two of us existed.</p><p>Blaise took his sweet time reading the slip, and a satisfied smile tugged at his lips. He looked at me. I barely even heard him say my name, but I watched his lips move in that hypnotic manner of his, and I walked towards him, entranced. We stood in front of one another in the centre of the circle. Gently, Blaise smeared the cold, sticky blood on my forehead and wiped it with the soaked wool, and I did the same to him, going up on my tiptoes to reach. I couldn’t help but giggle at the absurdity of it all as I let the piece of wool fall back in the cauldron.</p><p>Tenderly, he leaned down to kiss the crown of my head, and my body flooded with warmth.</p><p>We went to sit in the ring while another pairing was chosen, squeezed tightly together. I tried to focus on the last remaining draws—Selina ended up with Scarlett, surprisingly—but was distracted by his burning gaze on my shoulders, my neck, my arms. His hand settled firmly on my knee.</p><p>“Now,” said Tracey in a hushed voice, levitating the empty cauldron down, “to observe the rest of the ritual, we must run anticlockwise around the forest, and then you may do as you please. The parameters I’ve set a Silencing Charm to include this clearing, out there towards the edge of the lake and the path leading back towards the castle. You’re free to get up to as much wickedness as you like—but if you decide to venture any further into the Forbidden Forest, you’re on your own.”</p><p>An excited murmur rippled through the circle as each of us stood up, preparing ourselves for the madness that would follow.</p><p>“Have fun!” she cried, and sped off into the forest so quickly it was almost comical. Blaise and I caught each other’s eye, and I let him pull me up to my feet to race everyone ahead of us. Girls shrieked at the branches snapping under their feet, and low, boyish laughter echoed through the tall trees. The night air ripped coldly against my bare skin, but there was a boiling heat bubbling inside me that threatened to spill into my entire body with every step. The forest seemed alive with whispers in the leaves and strange shadows lurking in the corner of my eye, following us as we shrieked and laughed. I was delirious with excitement, and for a second I understood Tracey’s obsession with the altered state of mind.</p><p>At some point we separated from the rest of the group until we reached a shadowy patch, and I collapsed onto it, breathing hard. My arms stretched up over my head onto the ticklish blades of grass and soft moss. Blaise stood over me, chest rising and falling in the moonlight. We were laughing.</p><p>“That was certainly lucky,” I said breathily, “you drawing my name.”</p><p>He knelt down beside me, and his smile turned sharp. “Depends. Would you call casting an Odds-On Charm lucky?”</p><p>I rolled onto my side to face him. “So you did cast a charm,” I said, pleased.</p><p>He raised an eyebrow. “And you didn’t?”</p><p>“I always get what I want, Zabini,” I said playfully, although deep down I’d been worried sick about this all week. “I don’t tempt fate.”</p><p>He reached a hand forward to brush my hair from my shoulder and tuck it behind my ear.</p><p>“You’re certainly tempting something,” he said, and I barely had time to think of a response before he leaned forwards to kiss me on the mouth. I melted against him, nerves building and raging in the pit of my stomach. I’d never been so excited and terrified in my life. He trailed a single finger down my neck, sending a fresh ripple of goosebumps down my skin. His touch drifted over the silky brassiere, down the slope of my ribs, towards my stomach. My breath was caught in my throat. He was moving torturously slow.</p><p>“This is cute,” Blaise murmured, tracing the strap of the garter belt around my waist.</p><p>I raised an eyebrow. “Just cute?”</p><p>He let out an amused exhale. “I think you know exactly what I meant.”</p><p>“Tell me anyway,” I mock-demanded, leaning forward, pleased to see his cheeks darkening. I relished teasing him like this, relished the feeling of having his undivided attention permanently within my grasp, perhaps even more than I enjoyed being on the receiving end of his charm. I loved affecting him.</p><p>“You’re gorgeous,” he whispered, bringing my hand up to kiss my open palm.</p><p>I was slightly relieved. Before, in the dormitory, I’d honestly felt rather silly standing around in such elaborate undergarments. Now I felt quite powerful, bewitching him so effortlessly.</p><p>I reached a hand up to his hair and pulled him close, threading my fingers through the soft curls. “I’ve been looking forward to this,” I admitted.</p><p>He left a lingering kiss on my wrist. “Have you, now?”</p><p>I hummed something vaguely in response, focusing instead on the softness of his hair.</p><p>“You had me worrying for a second, Rosier,” Blaise murmured against my skin. He looked me in the eye, his grin easy, his cheekbones sharply carved out in the silver moonlight. I nearly choked on my breath. <em>That boy is like a walking love potion.</em></p><p>I blinked, quite starstruck. “Why?”</p><p>Blaise paused, thumb tracing over my wrist. “You can be intimidating,” he said finally, and for a moment I thought it was a funny joke.</p><p>“Me?” I said in disbelief. I had half a mind to tell him it was very much the other way around.</p><p>“You,” he confirmed. “I can never tell what you’re thinking. Even Draco never seems to know.”</p><p>This was definitely news to me. “You could ask,” I mumbled feebly.</p><p>Blaise let out a chuckle. I could feel his hot breath on my pulse. “Where’s the fun in that?” he said. “It’s quite fun guessing. You’re very alluring, Rosier. And very sweet,” he added softly. “The card was adorable.”</p><p>This made me flush with pleasure. “You had nothing to worry about,” I told him, feeling the hard curves of his arm. “I’m the one who had competition,” I added, thinking of Selina.</p><p>“There’s never any competition with you,” he said smoothly.</p><p>I was momentarily stunned by his endlessly frustrating charisma, my fingers frozen over his bicep.</p><p>“I mean it,” he said when I stayed silent.</p><p>“Selina made it quite clear to me that she wanted you tonight,” I admitted quietly. “So I was a little nervous. That you wouldn’t pick me.”</p><p>Blaise did not do at all what I expected, because he laughed. I frowned, rather confounded by this reaction.</p><p>“Don’t let Lina get to you,” he said knowingly. “She knows I have no interest in her. Not anymore.”</p><p>I breathed a sigh of relief. Blaise then pulled me onto his lap, hands wrapped around my waist.</p><p>“As if the mighty Rosier was worried about some stupid little lottery.”</p><p>“You’d be surprised.” I let out a nervous laugh as he began to trail his hands down the naked skin of my lower back. “You’re so popular with the witches. And wizards,” I added.</p><p>At this, Blaise shrugged, but there was a smug look on his face. I knew how he loved his reputation. “They’re all good fun,” he remarked. “But they’re not you.”</p><p>I searched his face. The look in his eyes was captivating, and so deep and dark I could hardly think. Blood rushed to my ears, blocking out all the sounds of the forest, and I kissed him hard, pressing my body into his, hot skin against skin.</p><p>His grip tightened as he returned the kiss just as fiercely, nails digging into my back. My breath hitched as Blaise slid his fingers further down to my thighs, hovering over the garter straps. He was whispering my name, telling me sweet things, dirty things, things that made me blush. I could feel he was hard under me, and that only made my nerves stir. I pressed my mouth against his pulse, up to his jaw, then his cheekbone. When he dragged his fingernails down my legs I hissed in his ear and bit the lobe. Teeth clashed against the cold metal of his earring.</p><p>“Good girl,” he rasped, and it sent a pleasant shiver down my spine.</p><p>“Blaise, I—” The rough fingers running up and down my legs were too distracting. <em>“Oh,” </em>I gasped when he brushed my hair to one side and pressed his lips to my neck.</p><p>“Don’t worry, I won’t leave a mark,” he mumbled, mouth hot against my throat.</p><p>“No,” I said, clutching at his back, “do it, Blaise, do whatever you want.” I couldn’t care less if Pansy or Tracey teased me for it later; I wanted it <em>now.</em></p><p>The look in his eye turned dark. In a single smooth motion, he flipped us over, so he was the one straddling me. I lay back in the cold grass, and he pressed his body into mine, holding himself up on his elbows. His gold necklace brushed against my chest. With the feeling that I was caught in a net, I stared into his deep, half-lidded eyes, clouded with a lewd sort of look that made me feel on fire. There was an addictive aura about him, and I couldn’t get enough.</p><p>Blaise trailed his hand down my torso, teasing lower and lower. “What do you want me to do?” he asked me, his voice dangerously low. “Tell me what you want, darling.”</p><p>Something urgent stirred and throbbed in the pit of my stomach. I was finding it hard to think. “I…”</p><p>“Yeah?” he encouraged.</p><p>“I want,” I managed, “I want you to…” It was no use; my tongue was too heavy, my mind too preoccupied with his hands on me.</p><p>“What, baby?” he breathed against my ear. I swallowed hard as his fingers found their way in between my legs, slick and wet. “You want this?”</p><p>This was almost too much for me to handle, and I thanked Merlin for Tracey’s wicked mind. I gave a stiff little nod, and my cheeks glowed bright red with embarrassment as his fingers entered one by one.</p><p>“You’re so tight, darling,” he cooed. I gripped at his back.</p><p>Eventually Blaise began to trail open-mouthed kisses down my body, fingering the straps of my lingerie, and my soul left my body for a second when he pulled my legs apart and his lips reached my inner thigh, inching closer and closer. I moaned far too loud. Blaise held his fingers up to ghost over my lips, and I took his thumb into my mouth, sucking hard. Matters progressed, and soon he was pulling the straps of the brassiere down and unclipping my garters.</p><p>“I want you,” he was saying into my ear, his hands everywhere. “I want you <em>constantly.”</em></p><p>We stayed on the forest floor for a long time, inching towards something that made my stomach flutter at the thought, until dark grey clouds drifted through the night sky and blocked out the little light from the moon. Suddenly the wind began to howl, and the leaves rustled restlessly. I thought I could see a spider crawling towards us and I shot up, latching myself onto Blaise’s arm.</p><p>“Blaise,” I whispered, “I’m frightened.”</p><p>His hands were off me in an instant. “We don’t have to do anything more, if you don’t want to,” he said. “We can take it slow—”</p><p>“No, I mean—<em>there,”</em> I said, gesturing at the trees.</p><p>He chuckled, stroking my hair affectionately. “It’s just the wind,” he reassured me, and I let him push me back down onto the grass, but I had the strangest feeling we were being watched.</p><p>I shivered then, and he looked down at me.</p><p>“Are you cold?” Blaise asked with an amused grin, and all the sexual tension was shattered. I nodded sheepishly, and he laughed, rubbing his hands up and down my shoulders. “Let’s get back inside.”</p><p>I blinked up at him, slightly bewildered. “But I thought…”</p><p>“I want you,” he said, and that familiar fire erupted in my belly again. “But not here, like this. Not in the middle of the forest for one of Davis’ little schemes.” He ran a hand through my hair. “My bed is far more comfortable, if you want it.”</p><p>I flushed happily. “That sounds good to me.”</p><p>Blaise grinned, leaning into me to share one last, deep kiss. I wrapped my arms and legs around his middle, feeling his body heat, smoothing my hands over his burning skin. His tongue slipped into my mouth and I moaned into him.</p><p>“Merlin, there you are.”</p><p>We jumped and turned to our left. Draco stood mere feet from us, looking rather dishevelled.</p><p>“Draco?” I hissed. My hands flew up to hide my chest. “What are you doing?”</p><p>“Someone spotted Hagrid a while back,” he told us. His skin looked clammy and pale.</p><p>Blaise sat up. “Did everyone leave?”</p><p>“Don’t know. I’m getting out of here, though. Bloody forest…”</p><p>“Wait, are you alone?” I asked. “Weren’t you with Terence Higgs?”</p><p>Draco rolled his eyes. “He was too eager,” he drawled. “And ran off the second we heard footsteps. Now are you coming or not? It’s fucking freezing out here, and I’m not losing my Prefect badge for something like <em>this.”</em></p><p>I let out a laugh, bashfully pulling the straps back onto my shoulders and making sure I was covered. We dusted each other off and quietly tiptoed back the way we came, careful not to step on any twigs in the dark. It was nearly impossible to see anything, but I was too frightened of being caught to use Lumos. We somehow found our way back to the clearing and pulled our cloaks on, and quickly, without running into anybody, we slipped through the open window and back into the castle. I rushed into the empty Common Room, careful not to let the portrait slam shut on Malfoy and Zabini, and curled up on the carpet close to the fire.</p><p>“Oh, warmth,” I moaned. Some feeling was returning to my fingers. “This is so much better than the Forbidden Forest.”</p><p>Blaise was watching me from an armchair with an amused smile, and beckoned me with his hands. I let him pull me up onto his lap, and he wrapped his arms around my middle.</p><p>“Shame we got interrupted like that,” he murmured, pressing his lips to my shoulder. “That seems to be a running theme with us.”</p><p>“It was only a matter of time before one of Tracey’s plans failed,” I said. I hoped no one would get caught—it could land all of us into trouble.</p><p>“I wouldn’t say it <em>failed,” </em>said Blaise, tilting my chin towards him. “I’m very pleased with how it turned out. You know, you make the cutest face when you’re about to—”</p><p><em>“Please,</em> not while I’m still here,” groaned Malfoy. He poured himself a jigger of Chimera brand cognac and conjured an ice cube into it.</p><p>We laughed. Blaise brought my lips up to his for a short, sweet kiss. I let out a contented sigh.</p><p>“Oh, don’t let me interrupt,” said Draco then, coming to sit on the couch. “By all means.”</p><p>Blaise shot him a look. “Jealousy is unbecoming, Malfoy.”</p><p>“Very funny,” muttered Draco into his glass. “Surely you can do better than <em>him,</em> cousin.”</p><p>I motioned for the glass and he reluctantly handed it over. The ice cube rattled as I took a sip, and I felt the familiar, pleasant burn in my throat.</p><p>“I know,” I joked, handing the glass back. “But there’s not much choice, so I guess I’ll just settle.” I giggled when Blaise huffed—any jab at his vanity always promised delightful results—and playfully squeezed his cheek.</p><p>The three of us finished the remainder of the cognac. By the end of the bottle, Draco was half-asleep on the couch, getting drunker by the second. I stayed on Blaise’s lap, snuggled into his chest. His warm hand was on my thigh. I felt calm and content, and strangely at ease despite the bizarre, incomparable night we’d just experienced. The picture was rather funny now that I think about it: three Slytherins in their undergarments, covered in soil and smelling of grass, sharing a bottle of booze in the early hours of the morning. And yet, it wasn’t all that unusual, either; we’d definitely experienced stranger things in our years at Hogwarts.</p><p>Eventually the others joined us in the Common Room—some sweating and breathing hard, having ran around the forest to get back, and some simply sauntered wearing smug smiles. Tracey and Daphne were two of the last to return, with leaves in their hair, and they headed straight for the bath. Parkinson and Nott, surprisingly, arrived hand in hand, and slipped into the boys’ dormitory together (and Draco did not seem at all bothered by this, as he made no indication that he noticed nor cared). The firelight was cosy and low, and I was warmed all the way through. I nearly fell asleep right there in Blaise’s arms while he played with my hair.</p><p>Vaguely, I thought he was saying something, but it sounded muffled. I blinked my eyes open and looked up at him. “Hm?”</p><p>He let out an airy chuckle. “Let’s get you to bed, angel,” Blaise murmured, planting a gentle kiss on the crown of my head. He slowly pulled me to my feet and led me to the girls’ dormitory with a steady hand on my lower back. He bid me goodnight and turned away. I missed his warm arms.</p><p>“Um,” I said, hooking my index finger around his. His handsome face turned to me expectantly. I felt utterly naked all of a sudden, which was ridiculous considering I’d been in the same state of undress all night. “You could sleep with me tonight,” I offered, suddenly feeling shy. “If you wanted.”</p><p>He cocked an eyebrow. “Isn’t that what Lupercalia was for?”</p><p>I felt my cheeks heat up. “I mean—just sleep, in my—”</p><p>“I’m teasing,” he said softly. “I’d love to.”</p><p>The dormitory was silent. I removed what remained of my makeup. Blaise helped me pull off the silly garter belt and stockings, and I slipped my nightdress over my head.</p><p>“You look lovely,” said Blaise quietly, and he smiled at the red rose on my dresser.</p><p>“So do you,” I said, swiping a bit of moss off his shoulder.</p><p>The other girls had their canopies drawn, presumably already fast asleep (or they were in someone else’s dorm altogether). I felt somehow even more nervous than I did earlier on the forest floor, even though we were only going to sleep—nothing more. The mattress creaked beneath us as we got under the covers. My heart was pounding, which felt so silly, but it felt surreal to have Zabini in my bed after all this time. I would never admit it, but I’d dreamt about this countless times—albeit usually under very different (and much steamier) circumstances.</p><p>I pulled the canopy shut around us and lay down beside him, pressed closely together, our legs tangled. It was too dark to see, and he made a passing comment about this being better than the forest (and I think we were still drunk, because everything was much funnier than it usually would be). My head rested on his warm chest; his fingers stroked my hair. This felt right.</p><p>“Goodnight, Blaise,” I whispered, feeling my pulse race at saying something so ordinary, so domestic.</p><p>He tenderly kissed my hand. “Sweet dreams, Rosier.”</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>aww cuties</p><p>listened to The Marías on repeat while writing this - highly recommend!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. part VIII</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>the green and the black</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>part VIII</strong>
</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>The next morning, I learned that Blaise looked unfairly beautiful even when he was asleep and hungover. My head pounded and my eyes would barely open—I’d only slept about four hours, and drank a lot of liquor and fig wine on a near-empty stomach. Still, despite the circumstances, I’d slept serenely with Blaise beside me. I stared lazily at his profile, at the way his lips parted ever so lightly as he slept. Tracey then woke up the entire dormitory with a loud groan that could give a Banshee a fright, and demanded death upon mornings.</p><p>“No more wine, no more figs,” she moaned. “Ever, ever,<em> ever—”</em></p><p>“Shhh, Trace. Head hurts.”</p><p>I vaguely noted that Millie and Pansy weren’t in the bedroom. Tracey continued in her despair. Daphne, being the angel that she is, conjured us all cold glasses of water. I drank the entire thing in one go and lay my head back down on the pillow, staring at how the dark green canopy swirled like the forest above me.</p><p>“I’ll get you some Wiggenweld,” said Blaise gently. My gaze lingered on his bare torso in the pale sunlight filtering in through the lake as he left the room. It was really quite annoying how attractive he was. I closed my eyes and curled up under the sheets.</p><p>“Fun night, evidently?” Tracey teased, though her voice was thankfully quiet enough that it didn’t hurt my brain. Every loud noise was an assault on the senses.</p><p>I blinked one eye open to look at her. “Why evidently?”</p><p>“Seeing as Mr Zabini just left your bed.” She had dark circles under her eyes, but her lips were curled into her usually cheeky grin.</p><p>“I suppose,” I mumbled, nearly laughing at the memory of Draco bursting through the bushes. “It didn’t go exactly as planned.”</p><p>“Did you forget to take your potion?” Daphne asked suddenly. (She meant a contraceptive potion, and I’d taken some from the bottle I kept in my nightstand long before we’d even gone to the forest, though it ultimately wasn’t necessary.)</p><p>“No, no,” I reassured her. My temple throbbed. “Just didn’t end up needing it.”</p><p>They looked rather surprised at that, but didn’t say anything.</p><p>“Malfoy found us when he was running from Hagrid,” I clarified, omitting that we’d planned to leave anyway. Tracey would surely tease me if I described just how the forest made me feel—frightened and small, tensing at every sudden movement. “At least we didn’t get caught. Merlin, I’m hungover.”</p><p>A laugh. “I can see that.”</p><p>Soon Blaise returned and handed me a bottle of Wiggenweld. I took a large gulp—perhaps a bit more than necessary, but I felt wretched—and within moments the headache subsided considerably. Zabini, on the other hand, looked perfectly functional, his curls effortlessly tossed and his eyes bright and sharp. I was certain I looked a wreck. He was watching me nonchalantly from the bed as I sat at the vanity, idly humming to myself while I charmed my hair into neat waves and tied it with a black bow. Strangely, I felt not at all self-conscious as he openly watched me get dressed; instead I felt a sense of normalcy. There was a small, content smile playing on the corners of his mouth.</p><p>I noticed the smooth space between his shoulder blades where, only a few short months ago, an ugly bruise had bloomed across his skin.</p><p>When we went up to breakfast, the twenty-odd Slytherins who took part in last night’s festivities all looked noticeably more exhausted than the other students, but it was a good kind of exhaustion. I felt like I had been initiated into some kind of mysterious society, all sharing a secret history. Even my morning cup of coffee seemed more noteworthy than usual, like every detail was a thread within a shared narrative, an inside joke only few of us were in on. I noticed that Millicent was sitting closely with Pucey, and gave her an impressed smile. She looked pleased.</p><p>Much to my surprise, though, Theo and Pansy arrived together just then, holding hands.</p><p>I truthfully hadn’t spoken much to Nott since he’d barged into the boys’ dorm after our victory over Hufflepuff back in December, and fortunately he seemed to have lost all interest in terrorizing me. I did catch him scowling a fair few times from across the room, but for the most part he left me alone. (I personally believed he was only ever interested in me to begin with because he discovered I was Draco’s cousin, so I didn’t feel too bad for him.) Shockingly, he and Pansy seemed to be getting along swimmingly over breakfast, even though she was usually so quick to put him down in favour of Draco. Then again, times change. She couldn’t wait for Draco forever.</p><p>Still, looking at Theo’s slimy expression from across the table, I couldn’t help but feel rather disturbed by the pair of them. My eyes narrowed as I caught Pansy’s self-satisfied smirk. I wondered if she knew how he’d treated Blaise and I. I suppose she didn’t. As far as I knew, only Blaise, Daphne, Tracey, and perhaps Draco were aware.</p><p>Beside me, Blaise said my name to get my attention. I blinked, tearing my eyes away from Pansy, and turned to him. Under the enchanted clear blue sky of the Great Hall, with the golden warmth of magical sunlight streaming down on us, he looked like a painting. He placed his hand on my thigh underneath the table, just teasing at the hem of my skirt, his soft fingers tracing my skin. This worked wonders to distract me and for the rest of the morning, I couldn’t focus on anything but Blaise.</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>Late February, in the most unfortunate turn of events, I was paired with Nott for Defence Against the Dark Arts in preparation for our mid-term practical exam. Despite repeatedly pleading with Professor Snape that I would be far better off with someone else—even one of the Gryffindors, that’s how desperate I was—he wouldn’t even entertain the thought. I was miserable all day. DADA was one of my favourite classes and, while I wasn’t anywhere near as skilled as Malfoy or Potter in duelling, I had the sense of self to feel I was at least better than Nott, whose only defining duelling technique was cheating.</p><p>Time moved like treacle. We practiced simple offensive and defensive spells under Snape’s watchful eye. I wanted to be sick every time I had to look at Nott’s face—which, unfortunately, was far too often—and all I could think was his sickening grin as he’d tried to kiss me, the pain in my wrist, the cold feeling of disgust deep in my chest. He infuriated me. I had little patience for him.</p><p>“Your wandwork is sloppy,” I snapped as he unsuccessfully tried to cast a Shield Charm for the thirteenth time. If he couldn’t even cast a defensive charm of moderate difficulty, he would be screwed in the exam, let alone a real duel. “It’s like this—look at my wrist. <em>Protego.”</em></p><p>With a flick a rippling barrier appeared before me. Nott’s scowl was distorted in the shield, and as I let the charm fall, his expression darkened.</p><p>“I don’t need your help.”</p><p>I wanted to say <em>Obviously you do,</em> but I bit my tongue. “Well, like it or not, you’re my partner, and my grade will be reflected in <em>our</em> performance.”</p><p>“I can do it,” he growled, and tried to cast it again, with no luck. When the hellish lesson was finally over, we’d only barely started doing the basics, while nearly every other pair had started duelling already. I scowled at the back of Nott’s head as the class filed out of the room.</p><p>I could only deduce that Snape was trying to subject me to some cruel kind of psychological torture, because every DADA lesson from then on left me completely exhausted, without a shred of patience. Nott was impossible to work with, as he obviously hadn’t gotten over the rejection or the embarrassment, or both. It didn’t help that he was still hopeless at defensive spells, and I had no doubt he would have loved to practice the Cruciatus Curse instead.</p><p>The tension between us rose and soon we could barely stand to be in the same room as one another. I had no doubt he was spouting his snide remarks about Blaise and I to whoever would listen, as Blaise seemed to be more on edge than before, and it got to me.</p><p>I met Blaise’s eyes from across the room where he was practicing with Tracey, and he gave me a look of encouragement. It nearly made me feel better, but when I turned back to Nott’s scowling face, the hateful feeling would return with full force. I never dreaded a class more.</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>March brought with it the tests and mock exams I’d been dreading, and I started to spend long nights with my textbooks and cups of coffee.</p><p>I’d been studying for an upcoming Herbology practical all day in preparation for handling a Venomous Tentacula, and was feeling particularly stressed after reading all about the many ways one could easily kill me (strangling vines, deadly spikes, spitting venom, <em>biting teeth</em>). I went back and forth on whether or not to ask Longbottom to be my partner for the practical, as he was one of the few students in our class who seemed to be consistently capable of tackling all of the dangerous species we happened to be studying—and I had no interest in dying by plant.</p><p>Neville ended up actually being an enthusiastic study partner, and while we were nowhere near friends (and, I believe, he was a little intimidated by my House colours) we actually got along quite well, all things considered. I was grateful for his help. We stayed in the greenhouses long after sunset under Professor Sprout’s watchful eye.</p><p>I joined my friends in the Slytherin Common Room rather late at night—ten o’clock, right on time for curfew—which Pansy pointed out was rather typical of me nowadays.</p><p>“You’re always late,” she complained. “We said we’d hang out at nine.”</p><p>As I approached I sheepishly placed my stack of books on the coffee table, feeling rather guilty that I’d missed so much of the evening. “The Herbology cram session ended late,” I explained. There was dirt under my fingernails and a leaf on my skirt, and I brushed it off. I was sure I smelled like soil.</p><p>Pansy said nothing. She’d been rather short with me lately, ever since she and Nott had gotten closer.</p><p>Despite my insistence that we’d had quite enough free time to enjoy ourselves over the Christmas holidays, and that we should really turn our attention to N.E.W.T.s, the others somehow always managed to find a way to squeeze in a day for drinking. The Seventh Year Slytherins were far too stressed to participate in any sort of social life anymore, with gruelling exams only a few short months away, so we did away with throwing large parties in the Common Room and instead tended to sit with a large bottle of something—red wine, today—and a deck of cards. There was already an empty bottle hidden under the table, and another, half empty, by the leg of Vincent’s armchair.</p><p>Blaise moved his legs off the couch he was lounging on and I took a seat beside him, hugging one of the pillows to my chest. Daphne sat reading with Tracey’s head on her lap, while Tracey read out her Tarot cards (another new hobby of hers). Pansy was gossiping with Millicent, and rather pointedly not looking anywhere near Draco’s direction (I suppose they were off-again, perhaps permanently this time now that Nott had swooped in). Vincent and Gregory were playing some sort of card game they’d adapted into a drinking game—although why they were taking shots of wine was a mystery to me.</p><p>Nott was talking to Draco, of all people, about something scandalous his dad found at work. Miraculously, they seemed to be getting along just fine. I pointedly ignored him, and he ignored me right back, as we were prone to do outside DADA.</p><p>“Here,” said Blaise, offering me a mug. It had wine in it. Draco made a loud remark on how incorrect this etiquette was, and Tracey groaned.</p><p>“For the last time, Malfoy, it’s just a <em>drink! </em>I should be able to put it in any kind of cup I want!”</p><p>“So you’d put hot tea in a wine glass, would you?” he asked sarcastically. “I didn’t think so, <em>Davis.”</em></p><p>“This isn’t hot tea though, is it, <em>Malfoy—”</em></p><p>I laughed into the mug. The wine was warm. (Perhaps Draco did have a point.)</p><p>A radio was balanced precariously up on the mantelpiece, right next to the silver crest of Slytherin and a few more mugs. An old jazzy ballad by Celestina Warbeck was playing, one my mother liked to play around the house sometimes when she was in a good mood. I hadn’t heard it in years.</p><p>I absentmindedly hummed along to the lilting melody. The story went that the singer knew she would never need a love potion to win over her lover’s heart, and despite the melodrama of it all, it was really rather sweet. I felt I was back in those rare, happy days back home in Hampshire, twirling in the drawing room and stepping on my father’s feet.</p><p>A light touch on my shoulder made me look to my left. Blaise was holding his hand out to me.</p><p>Confused, I took it and shook it firmly, as a joke. He rolled his eyes, smiling, and extended his hand out to me again, like an invitation.</p><p>“What?” I laughed.</p><p>“Just give me your hand,” he said, and I set my mug down. He pulled me up from the couch and brought me closer to the radio, right in front of the fireplace. As he took my other hand and placed it on his shoulder, I understood what he was trying to do and laughed, and let him sway me gently back and forth. Celestina’s fine, whispery voice filled the room.</p><p>Vincent and Gregory were sniggering behind my back, but it was hard to pay them any mind when I had Blaise so very close to me. I soaked up all his tender attention. One hand gently grasped mine, and the other lightly teased at my waist, his fingers feather-light, almost touching but not quite enough. At first I felt a bit silly dancing around the Common Room in front of everybody, but soon I melted into his arms and came to rest my cheek against his chest. I could feel his heartbeat right against my skull, fast and erratic compared to the slow, steady tempo of the song. The smell of sandalwood filled my nose.</p><p>When the song regrettably ended, we slowly pulled apart and stood there, as if transfixed in time. The look on his face was so tender I almost didn’t recognize him as the charming, flirtatious Zabini I’d come to know. He kissed my hand, like a gentleman in a romance novel, his eyes boring into my own. With our fingers interlaced, we stumbled back to the couch as the radio started broadcasting information about upcoming astronomical phenomena to look out for in the night sky. I noticed, vaguely, that Nott and Pansy were gone, but didn’t pay it any mind.</p><p>It was perhaps the most romantic thing Blaise had ever done. The melody was stuck in my head long after we’d gone to bed.</p><p>We did not kiss, but I felt we did not need to.</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>The owl arrived shortly after mid-terms. It was a red envelope sealed with the Rosier stamp in gold wax, and while my parents’ sentiments were usually never overly affectionate, I was in high spirits when I opened the letter. I’d kept it in my bag all day so I could properly read it after classes were over for the day. The boys played Exploding Snap on the coffee table. I was on the couch, surrounded by chatter and Tracey’s sharp laughter.</p><p>When I broke the wax seal, the howler sprung to life in my hands.</p><p>“YOU VILE, SHAMELESS GIRL. YOU IMPERTINENT EXCUSE FOR A DAUGHTER. HOW DARE YOU—”</p><p>I dropped the letter like it was on fire, my heart stopping dead in my chest. Icy cold filled my lungs and veins as it dropped onto the table, right in the middle of the boys’ cards, but it kept going.</p><p>“—INSTILLED IN YOU THE PRINCIPLES WORTHY OF A PURE-BLOOD. TO ASSOCIATE YOURSELF WITH A HALF-BLOOD BENEATH YOUR STATUS IS UNACCEPTABLE—YOU HAVE THE ROSIER NAME TO UPHOLD, THE LEGACY OF OUR HOUSE TO MAINTAIN. YOUR SELFISH—”</p><p>Every single soul in the Common Room had stopped to stare. It was completely silent except for the shrill, distorted voice of the howler, sounding horrifically like my Mother and yet not quite. It seemed to go on forever. I felt the dreadful heat of shame creep up my chest, but I couldn’t cry here, I couldn’t let myself get embarrassed any further.</p><p>“YOUR FATHER AND I WILL HAVE A WORD WITH YOU WHEN YOU GET HOME.”</p><p>And the letter stopped then, limp on the table. I was afraid there would be more. Suddenly it burst into brilliant flame, leaving nothing but a small pile of ash on top of the playing cards. I stared at it, unable to think. I was trembling. Tracey must have grabbed my hand, and I could hear saying my name her in my ear, but I couldn’t feel her.</p><p>I had never received a howler before. I had always been the perfect daughter. I had always done the right thing. I had always pleased them in any way I could.</p><p>Tears prickled in the corner of my eyes, and I couldn’t stop them. It was deadly quiet.</p><p>“That’s what you get,” I heard Nott say from behind me.</p><p>Instantly I shot up, ready to draw my wand on him. My blurry gaze focused on his smug face. “What did you just say to me?”</p><p>“You needed to be taught a lesson, Rosier. Rejecting a pure-blood in favour of a half-breed is—”</p><p>My blood ran cold. “Did you talk to my parents?”</p><p>But Nott was shaking his head, and I wanted to hex his ugly grin right off his face. “I would never stoop so low,” he was saying. “Perhaps it had been mentioned to my father, but—”</p><p>In a fit of rage I moved swiftly off the couch and drew my wand. There was a brief flicker of fear in his eyes. He drew his, clumsily, and far too slow.</p><p>
  <em>“Expelliarmus.”</em>
</p><p>With an easy flick, his wand went flying across the room and landed on the floor with a clatter. All our DADA lessons had been lost on him. He couldn’t even defend himself.</p><p>“Pulling a wand on another student, Rosier?” he hissed. “With Prefects present? I think that warrants a detention, don’t you?”</p><p>I rolled my eyes. Self-preserving git.</p><p>Pansy, who was hovering by Nott’s side, fervently nodded her head. “I—yes. Yes, a week’s detention. No, two weeks. And I’ll report this to Professor Snape.”</p><p>“That won’t be necessary, Parkinson,” interjected Draco. “I don’t see anything wrong. And if Snape were to inquire, I would tell him as much.”</p><p>Pansy looked appalled. “Draco—”</p><p>“They’re just duelling partners practicing after class,” he drawled. “Honestly, stop acting like a child.”</p><p>I felt a twinge of gratitude for my cousin, who rarely stood up for anybody else. Instead of fighting back, Pansy shrank in on herself. I suppose he still had some power over her. Nott also seemed rather shaken by Draco’s words, as they usually held one another in high regard, and he took a tentative step back. I raised my wand to his neck. He went rigid.</p><p>“You don’t know what you’ve done, Theodore.” My voice sounded disembodied, not like mine at all—low and cold and hard. “You had no right. My life is none of your concern, and it will never be. I rejected you—months ago, might I add!—because you’re a vile, loathsome little boy with no concern for anybody but yourself. No blood purity can make up for that. Now get over yourself and <em>grow up.”</em></p><p>His mouth quivered and fell open to speak, but I twisted my wrist to jab my wand harder into his neck. “Never speak to me or my family again, or I will not hesitate.”</p><p>He had the audacity to smile, but it was uneasy. “Hesitate to do what, Rosier? Jinx my hair orange?”</p><p>I was ready to really hex him this time, a curse on the tip of my tongue, when someone put their hands on either of our shoulders and pulled us apart. Blaise stood between us.</p><p>“Stop it, Theodore,” he said calmly. “This is the last time I’ll warn you to leave her alone.”</p><p>“How many times must we have this chat, Zabini?”</p><p>Blaise was firm. “Stay away from my girl.”</p><p>He didn’t draw his wand, didn’t get violent. He remained utterly composed. Nott seemed surprised and, I think, rather disappointed, but once I started to come to my senses I was mortified that we had caused such a scene already.</p><p>And then Blaise was pulling me away towards the dormitory, away from prying eyes.</p><p>He locked the door behind us. We stood in silence for a moment. I was trying not to cry or act out in rage, staring intensely at the dark carpet, channelling all my energy into loathing the ground. Blaise watched me. He seemed to be lost in thought.</p><p>“You…” He stopped and we went silent again. “I’m sorry, Rosier.”</p><p>“Sorry?” I repeated in surprise. That was possibly the last thing I’d ever expected him to say—he’d just <em>saved</em> me. “Why…?”</p><p>“We shouldn’t do this.”</p><p>A gripping coldness spread through me, like he’d hit me square in the chest with Petrificus Totalus. I waited for him to elaborate.</p><p>“You’re still a pure-blood,” he said simply.</p><p>I frowned. “And?”</p><p>“And nothing has changed since Fourth Year.”</p><p>“Yes, it—”</p><p>“No,” he insisted. “Your parents still wouldn’t approve of me. Your blood status hasn’t changed, and neither has mine.”</p><p>“Did he say something to you?”</p><p>There was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. That was all I needed to know.</p><p>“Nott doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” I stated. “He doesn’t know how I feel.”</p><p>“I know how your parents feel,” Blaise muttered. He looked utterly dejected. I yearned to touch him, to close the gap between us. “I don’t know why I hoped it would go differently this time. I don’t know how I <em>deluded</em> myself into believing it would work, that I’d ever be good enough for you.”</p><p>“But you <em>are,”</em> I insisted. Despite my best efforts, there was a lump forming in my throat and my eyes started to feel prickly and hot again. “You’re much too good for me.”</p><p>He looked like he was about to retort, but I swiftly interrupted.</p><p>“No, listen to me, Blaise.” I tried to catch his eyes, but he seemed unwilling to meet my gaze. “The only things that haven’t changed since Fourth Year are my feelings for you. And I couldn’t care less what my parents have to say—they’d marry me off to Draco straight after graduation if they could, and do you honestly trust that sort of judgement?”</p><p>Although the question was rhetorical, something in his expression shifted.</p><p>“I want to be with you, half-blood or not, pure-blood or not,” I reiterated. “I don’t <em>care.</em> I wouldn’t care even if you were Muggle-born.”</p><p>The words were out. It felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I had never admitted this to anybody, and while the last statement was perhaps completely blasphemous, I needed him to understand. Blaise, however, seemed insulted, and his sharp eyes sent me a warning look. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”</p><p>“Do you love me?”</p><p>It came out far more accusatory than I meant it to. His eyes widened for a moment, and his lips parted to speak, but no noise escaped him.</p><p>“I wasn’t going to bring this up until you were ready to talk about it,” I said, “and that’s fine, it’s alright if you don’t, but you <em>know</em> that I love you.” My heart clenched when his expression didn’t change. “I always have. My Amortentia smelled like you. When that Bludger hit you, I was so scared—nothing had ever been as important to me as making sure you were alright, that you were <em>safe</em>. I’ve made it clear time and time again, Blaise, I’ve even said it to your face. There’s no way you don’t know by now that I love you. And I can’t help it, and I’ve tried to stop it, but I can’t. I can’t control how—how I <em>feel</em>. I just love you, Blaise.”</p><p>He pursed his lips together. “I know,” was all he said.</p><p>“Do you love me?” I pressed.</p><p>His eyes had softened, and he was looking at me with a thoughtful sort of expression that made me want to embrace him and never let go. “Yes.”</p><p>There was no resentment in his voice, no anger, no sadness. It was just a statement, just a fact. I might as well have asked him if Dumbledore was old or Slytherins wore green. And while it wasn’t at all the romantic confession I’d imagined in the slightest, my heart swelled with hope.</p><p>“You still owe me a favour,” I said suddenly. “An IOU.”</p><p>He brow furrowed at the peculiar timing, and he regarded me cautiously. He raked a hand through his hair. “Yes?”</p><p>“Forget about all of it,” I requested. “About me being a pure-blood. About what my parents might think. All of it! It doesn’t matter to me.”</p><p>He let out a shaky breath. “It’s not that easy.”</p><p>“Make it that easy!”</p><p>“You don’t understand.” He looked exhausted. It broke my heart. “What it would do to your parents, to <em>you.</em> Look at what it’s already done. It just isn’t worth it.”</p><p>A wave of anger washed over me, and it was difficult to stand still. “Then what has this entire year been for?” I demanded, my voice rising. “Why would you suddenly start flirting with me when you’d already proved you were perfectly capable of ignoring me for two years? Why would you knowingly bring my hopes up?” I swallowed hard; my fingers were shaking. “You don’t know how long it took me to get over you. I don’t think I ever really did.”</p><p>I knew that last part would hurt him, and truthfully, selfishly, I was glad it did. He said my name, but it didn’t placate me. It only made me burst into new tears. For a moment he seemed unsure of how to proceed, and all the tension in the room seemed to have melted into a sort of sombre quiet. I hated hearing myself cry, and I hated that I kept doing it in front of him.</p><p>I was angry—not at him, not at Nott, not at anybody in particular, only at the injustice of it all. But above all, the thought of losing Blaise a second time, when I was finally confident in what had started to blossom between us, was the end of the world.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” he said finally. He seemed to be coming completely undone—no longer suave, or smooth, or charming, or anything. “I just—I can’t stay away from you. I can’t. You don’t know what you do to me, Rosier. I wanted to stay away, I <em>meant</em> to, but then—” He let out a sigh, and something tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Then I saw you on the train platform in September, and you were laughing at something Davis must’ve said. And you just looked so beautiful. And for a second all I wanted was to go up to you and hold you, kiss you, make you laugh. And ignoring you, seeing other people, losing all that time with you—it just seemed an utter waste. Because I realized I hadn’t moved on at all. Not even a little.”</p><p>I was blushing furiously.</p><p>“I can’t control how I feel for you either,” he said. “I couldn’t handle another year of ignoring you. I couldn’t. I love you too much. I don’t think I’ve ever loved anybody the way I love you.”</p><p>Tearfully, I looked into his eyes. His gaze was soft and gentle. It was like an arrow to the heart.</p><p>“But because I love you,” he continued, his voice suddenly firm, “and believe me when I say I do—I love you, I’ve loved you since Second Year—I can’t be the reason your parents treat you like this. I can’t stand by and let them put you through this pain. I’m not worth it, angel. I’m not.”</p><p>“I think you are.” I was openly sobbing now, and I couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. I stared at the floor, at the carpet I loathed. “My parents don’t even know me. All they care about are grades and exams and blood and money—and you heard how they spoke to me in that howler. Is that love?” I don’t know if I asked this for him, or for myself. I had no answer. “I don’t feel loved by them,” I decided.</p><p>Blaise said nothing.</p><p>“But with you,” I choked out. “With you, I…”</p><p>I buried my face into my hands.</p><p>“What can we do?” I whispered into my palms. “If I can’t be with you, I can’t go on pretending nothing’s happened. But I can’t ignore you, either, Blaise, I can’t go back to before. What can we do?”</p><p>He was silent for a long time. With hesitance, as if it was against his better judgement, he stepped closer to me and put his arms around my shoulders. I leaned into his soft, warm chest, and the feel of him was nearly enough to break my heart all over again. I was shaking, and he led me to his bed, gently handing me a goblet of water. I held it between clenched fingers.</p><p>He let out a long, tired sigh. “I don’t know.”</p><p>We fell silent again. Inexplicably, and completely out of nowhere, he laughed, and I looked up at him in confusion.</p><p>“What’s funny?”</p><p>“It’s just,” he said with an exasperated smile, “I finally have you in my bed and we’re arguing about your <em>parents.”</em></p><p>“You’re the one who brought it up,” I pointed out lightly.</p><p>“I know, I know—I mean, can you blame me?” He had an exasperated look on his face. “I thought you’d rejected me pretty firmly for two years.”</p><p>“That wasn’t me, Blaise. I had no idea—”</p><p>“I know that now,” he reassured me. “It’s just…difficult.”</p><p>I pursed my lips. “I understand.” There was a pause while I gathered the courage to speak. “I just want you to know that if all of that hadn’t happened—if I’d gotten your owl and read it—I would have accepted. In a heartbeat. I still would.”</p><p>He was staring at me, wordlessly. His eyes were glassy. I was sure I looked like a sniffling mess, but whatever Blaise was seeing, he seemed content to stare at it.</p><p>“I just want you to be happy,” he said finally.</p><p>“I’m happy with you.”</p><p>He had the strangest expression on his face. Finally, he wrapped a warm arm around my shoulders.</p><p>“If you’re sure,” he was saying, “if you’re certain—if this is what you want, I’ll be there for you.”</p><p>I didn’t hesitate. “It is.”</p><p>He left a gentle kiss on my temple. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just—can’t bear to see you in pain. I want you to be happy, always.”</p><p>We sat in silence for a while.</p><p>“I’ll figure something out,” I said finally, perhaps the most daunting thing of all. “I always do.”</p><p>“Will you go home for Easter?”</p><p>“Merlin, no,” I laughed. “I suppose I’m staying at school.”</p><p>“What a surprise. So am I.”</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry for the long wait!! i've been having some serious writer's block at the moment, and had no idea which direction i wanted this fic to go in. i think draco is a tiny bit OOC here, but i'll touch on that in the next chapter!!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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